


Star Spangled

by SeeBeeStrellacott



Series: Star Spangled [1]
Category: Cormoran Strike Series - Robert Galbraith
Genre: Awkward Tension, Cormoran and Robin on holiday, Culture Shock, F/M, Fake Relationship, Fluff, Independence Day - Freeform, Rated teen for language, We really love our flag, american pride, just an excuse to get these two together, just for fun, lots of food and beer, lots of pining, the plot doesn't matter
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-24
Updated: 2020-07-06
Packaged: 2021-03-04 07:09:14
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 15
Words: 27,671
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24899713
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SeeBeeStrellacott/pseuds/SeeBeeStrellacott
Summary: Strike and Robin take a case in America.The case doesn't really matter, I'm just using it as an excuse to have some American fun with these two.
Relationships: Robin Ellacott/Cormoran Strike
Series: Star Spangled [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1820437
Comments: 90
Kudos: 75





	1. Cowboys and Tornadoes

**Author's Note:**

> Our Independence Day is approaching, so I hope you'll forgive me for indulging in some American pride. I have lots of fun culture shocks planned based on my own experiences, but suggestions are welcome.

Robin was at her desk checking email, a few minutes before their next meeting with a potential client. Strike was still on the phone in his inner office. Work was fairly slow at the moment. It was one of those random lulls where they just didn’t have many cases on. Robin knew that they would probably accept whatever case this potential client presented them with, but she still hoped that Strike would be off the phone soon. Even though he had made her a full partner, she still thought of him as her boss ( _It is his agency after all_ ), so it made her uncomfortable to make decisions without him.

At exactly 11 o’clock, a woman walked into their office. _Impressively punctual_ , thought Robin. The woman looked to be in her mid-sixties, but her skin that had youthful quality that could only be obtained through the most expensive of skin creams and treatments. She was impeccably dressed, her hair neatly combed back into a sleek chignon.

Robin stood to shake her hand. “You must be Mrs. Vanderbilt. My partner is finishing up a phone call, but would you like some tea while we wait?”

“No, thank you, I’ll just wait here,” she said as she sat on the sofa that miraculously didn’t let out any flatulent noises. She had an American accent, Robin noted.

Thankfully, Strike stepped out of his office just then and introduced himself. When he invited her into his inner office, Robin turned to go back to her computer. Mrs. Vanderbilt stopped her.

“Actually, dear, I’d like to speak with you too.”

Nonplussed, Robin followed them into Strike’s office.

“So how can we help you?” Strike asked in his deep, melodious voice.

“My son recently took over my late husband’s oil company. He has just informed me that he is engaged to be married. I would like you to investigate his future bride.”

“Is there anything you suspect her of?” Strike asked, writing in his little notepad.

“Her family owns a competing oil company. The executives and boards of both companies are meeting next week to discuss a merger. I have insisted that my son sign a prenuptial agreement, but he has refused. I worry that the engagement and marriage may be a ruse to gain full control of my husband’s company after the merger. I don’t want to see all of my husband’s hard work pissed away.” Anger colored her last statement.

Strike was looking confused. “I’m sorry, I’m a bit lost. What exactly do you want us to do for you?”

Mrs. Vanderbilt explained, “I’m sorry, I should have mentioned. The companies are in America. My husband and I moved to London a few years ago. I’m on the board, but I can’t travel for the merger due to health reasons. I would like the two of you to pose as my personal assistants. The merger is going through, that has already been decided. I want you to take notes during the meeting, of course, but mainly I want to know everything you can find out about my son’s fiancé. No detail is too insignificant. Make friends with them, infiltrate their group, and report back to me on her character and what you think her intentions might be.”

Robin was silently watching the conversation. Strike looked at her, and could see the excitement shining in her eyes. _She wants this case_.

“We would love to help you, Mrs. Vanderbilt, my partner is especially good at this type of assignment, but going to…”

She cut him off, “Please, call me Gloria.” Strike and Robin both raised their eyebrows in surprise.

Gloria smiled, “Coincidence. No relation.” Then she continued, “I will be paying for everything, of course. I will cover all of your travel expenses, including food and any other cash you might need. I can give you five thousand up front, and five more when you return with the final report.”

Strike and Robin looked at each other. Ten thousand pounds and a free trip to America? They didn’t even need to discuss it. Strike reached across the desk to shake Gloria’s hand. “It’s a deal.” Robin left the office to return to her computer, totally in sync with her partner. “Ms. Ellacott will prepare the contract, while we discuss the details.”

Less than hour later, the plan was set. Strike and Robin would be flying out the day after tomorrow. Gloria assured them that she would notify the other board members that she would be sending two assistants in her stead. She gave them a debit card to use for expenses, and told them just to add all of the receipts to the final bill.

After Gloria left, Strike suggested that they knock off early for the day and have a celebratory pint in the Tottenham. _Ten thousand pounds!_

Robin claimed a table in the corner while Strike got them drinks and a basket of chips to share.

“So what do you reckon is in Oklahoma?” Robin asked when Strike returned with a pint for himself and a glass of white wine for Robin.

“You mean besides oil companies, apparently? Dunno. Cowboys and tornadoes?”

Robin laughed and shrugged. “I guess we’ll find out. That’s definitely not where I would have chosen for my first trip to the States, but it’s free.”

Strike grinned, “You know, she did suggest we take a short stopover on our way in. We could spend a couple of days in New York City or something.”

Robin nodded emphatically and practically squealed, “Yes! That would be lovely!” Then a little more hesitantly, “You don’t think that would be taking advantage?”

He shrugged and his lower lip jutted out just bit, looking adorably plump and soft. _Focus, Robin!_ “No, she suggested it. Why not?”

Robin was unable to contain her excitement. “Shall we go plan then? We have a lot to do.”

Strike agreed. As they walked back to the office, Robin was practically skipping with joy. Strike found her enthusiasm delightfully charming and….alluring. _Stop it_ , he told himself.

Back in the office, they booked their flights first to Boston (there weren’t any seats available to New York), then on to Tulsa. As Gloria had insisted, they booked first class the whole way. 

Robin gathered her things to go home and pack. Then she completely surprised him by letting out a little a scream and, “Ah! I’m so excited!” and then grabbed him by the head and planted a kiss firmly on his cheek.

Strike was still chuckling, face burning, as he heard Robin charge down the stairs and out the door.


	2. No Shirt

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Strike and Robin prepare for their trip to the U.S., and Robin gets a delicious mental image to mull over.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry, I had to edit this chapter. I almost forgot to include my favorite part. :)

Robin spent the rest of the afternoon and evening laying out all of her clothes, trying to decide what to pack. She decided her most professional looking work attire was a must, since she was supposed to be assistant to the impeccable Gloria Vanderbilt, business woman, not artist/actress/heiress. Surely she would also need some more casual clothes for social events. She eyed the green Vashti dress spread across her bed. She had had it repaired, of course, after Matthew had torn it. She wanted to pack as light as possible, but she also wanted to be prepared for all eventualities. 

She picked up her phone, and then hesitated. She had been about to call Strike to ask his opinion, but would he think her silly and frivolous? Would he even be able to provide insight? He was male after all. _Although, he does dress really well_. After another moment’s consideration, she decided to call Ilsa.

Ilsa squealed excitedly as Robin told her all about their new case. Ilsa insisted that she bring the Vashti dress, just in case. She added, “You look gorgeous in it Robin, you should take any excuse to wear it. Plus, I know Corm loves you in that dress.”

Robin rolled her eyes. Ilsa had been dropping these little hints for weeks now, determined to play matchmaker. “Ils, we’ve been over this. We work together and we’re friends. That’s all.”

“Mm hmm, right,” was Ilsa’s sassy reply.

Robin changed the subject as quickly as possible. “Do you have one of those hanging garment bags I could borrow? I don’t want to stuff my dress into a suitcase.”

“Of course! While you’re here, you might as well take some of Nick’s luggage with you. I doubt Corm has anything other than a tatty old holdall.”

Robin laughed and agreed with her friend. “I’ll be there in a bit.”

***

Strike was contemplating the state of his luggage, wondering how he would fit clothes, a suit, and toiletries into the two small holdalls he owned when Robin texted.

**I’m downstairs, come let me in.**

Completely baffled as to why she would be downstairs right now or why she wouldn’t be able to let herself in, Strike descended the stairs and opened the outer door to find Robin with her arms full of luggage.

“Ilsa sent me,” she explained. “We guessed that you might be needing some of these.” She gestured to the various pieces of luggage.

Strike helped her carry the bags upstairs. Robin giggled as she saw that he also had clothes strewn about. It was the messiest she had ever seen his surroundings, even when he had been living in his office downstairs. She quickly averted her eyes when she noticed a stack of what appeared to be boxer shorts on his table.

“Ilsa also lent me a garment bag for my dresses, but she didn’t have another one for you. I can take your suits if you like, and put them in with mine.” She mentally castigated herself for the small thrill she had experienced at the thought of their clothes hanging together.

“Good thinking. I was just imagining how awful I would I look in a suit that had been crammed into this old thing.” He tossed his tattered holdall aside.

Robin couldn’t help picturing him in a heavily wrinkled suit and thinking that he would still look… _Don’t go there._ She turned away, hoping she wasn’t blushing. This was a mistake, however, because now the boxer shorts were back in her line of sight. Now she was definitely blushing. _Bugger_.

Strike wondered why her cheeks had pinked slightly, then noticed that she was quickly looking away from the boxer shorts he had forgotten were on his table. In an effort to hide his own blush, he went to his bedroom and came back a few moments later with two suits for Robin to take with her. Having no reason to linger in his personal space, Robin rather awkwardly excused herself to leave. She was about the close the door to his flat when Strike called after her.

“Do you want to meet for lunch tomorrow to discuss plans? We still need to arrange hotels and everything.”

Robin hoped she didn’t sound too excited as she agreed, and they decided on a small pub that was roughly halfway between their respective flats.

***

Robin was already seated in the pub with a glass of orange juice and pint of Doom Bar on the table when Strike entered.

“Cheers!” He said as he took a long drink of his pint.

“I ordered you fish and chips, hope that’s okay,” Robin said as a waiter placed food in front of them. 

Strike laughed, “You know me well, Ellacott.”

“So, I did a little research last night,” Robin began.

Strike cut her off with a chuckle, “Course you did.” Robin looked at him, slightly confused as to why he was laughing at her. “Well? Come on, let’s hear it. What did you find out?”

“Well, first of all….” Robin hesitated, “I hate to tell you this, but smoking is largely banned in the States. So you might want to get some of that gum, or something.”

Strike was suddenly feeling fidgety. The knowledge that he wouldn’t be able to smoke gave him an intense feeling of nicotine withdrawal. “What else?”

“I read that Americans are very informal, even in business. Like, I think you might be overdressed if you wear a suit to the merger meetings.”

Strike looked at her like she had just suggested he show up with knickers on his head. “Robin, I’m not going to _not_ wear a suit to a business meeting.”

“I’m just telling what I read online. We’re supposed to be assistants remember? We’re supposed to look lower class.”

Strike still looked dubious. “I’m not saying you should show up in jeans a t-shirt, just that trousers and a tie would be appropriate.”

“No shirt then?”

Robin giggled and rolled her eyes. “No, no shirt,” she said sarcastically. She took a drink of her orange juice, hoping her face didn’t show the image her brain had just conjured of Strike wearing a tie and no shirt.

“Haven’t you worked with Americans before?” Robin asked, trying to hide the slight embarrassment her last comment had caused her.

“Just a few in Afghanistan. But that was military, so I’m not sure that counts. But you’re right, they were rather laid back.” He chuckled as he recounted the story of when a fellow SIB detective had called an American Army man an “eagle fucker”.

“I thought for sure he was going to get punched in the face, but the Americans just laughed and cheered and handed him another beer.”

Robin laughed and gave him an “I told you so” look, so he conceded that a suit might be a bit much for an assistant.

“So is that all?” Strike asked, knowing that probably wasn’t the extent of her research.

They talked about everything else Robin had discovered, which mainly consisted of things to do in Boston. She had even gone so far as to plan an itinerary for their short time in the city, which included a trip to Cape Cod, a Red Sox game, a tea room, and the bar that had inspired the old sitcom _Cheers_. She hadn’t done much research on Tulsa yet.

After lunch, they went back to the office to book hotels and a car, since public transportation seemed to be extremely limited. Robin left to finish up her errands and packing. 

They still hadn’t discussed the _other_ arrangements. Gloria had suggested that they pose as a couple. She thought it would be a more natural entrance into her son’s group of friends, all of whom were either engaged or married. Strike and Robin were both determined to treat this suggestion as professionally as possible. In their shared to desire to not make it awkward by talking about it, they had invariably made it awkward. The possibilities of what maintaining a fake romance would entail loomed above them. Strike knew that they would have to discuss it eventually, but he was a bit embarrassed by how much his heart accelerated at the thought of being romantic with Robin. He was both excited by the prospect and fearful of making her uncomfortable. 

After finishing his own errands, he spent the evening drinking too many beers and rehearsing would what he would say to Robin.


	3. Tea and Chocolate

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Strike and Robin arrive in Boston, and engage in just a bit of flirting.

The flight to Boston had been surprisingly pleasant. Robin had never flown first class before, and she quite enjoyed her little cubicle and seat that basically turned into a bed. She was even able to sleep for a bit, which was a nice surprise, because she could almost never get comfortable enough on a plane to fall asleep. Strike, of course, had fallen asleep almost instantly, but not before requesting that Robin wake him for snacks.

When she woke from her short slumber, she found that they were only about an hour from landing. She turned bleary eyed to Strike, who was enjoying a Jack and Coke.

“I don’t know about you, but I could get used to this.” He indicated his drink and comfortable position. 

Robin nodded sleepily, noticing a small pile of nicotine gum wrappers next to his drink.

Once they had landed, Robin went to sort out the car while Strike collected their luggage. He was impressed that Robin had only brought the garment bag and a medium sized rolling case, instead of the ridiculous amounts of luggage you often saw women wrangling in airports. He supposed this shouldn’t have surprised him. It was very _Robin,_ efficient as ever. 

Robin returned from the rental car desk to find Strike digging through one of his bags. He extracted an electronic cigarette. He had used it a few times before, but didn’t particularly care for it. He saw Robin smirking at him. “What?”

Robin tried to hide her smile and shook her head. “Nothing. Car park’s this way.”

After their luggage was loaded into the boot of the car, Robin turned to walk towards the driver’s side right as Strike also turned to get in the car. They collided, hard, causing Robin to stumble backwards, irresistibly reminding her of her first day in the office. Thankfully, this time Strike caught her by the arm instead of the breast.

“Oops, sorry, wrong side. Habit I suppose.” She turned to get into the left side, the driver’s side, of the car. As she reversed out of the parking space, she mumbled, “This is really weird.”

Strike chuckled, “Better you than me.” He rolled down his window a bit and took a few puffs of his e-cig, glad to get his nicotine fix in the “proper way”, or nearly proper, anyway.

Strike programmed the address to the DoubleTree Hotel into his phone and directed Robin through the Boston traffic. She looked slightly tense, but ever capable. 

The checked into the hotel, managing to get two rooms next to each other. They were both taken aback when the hotel clerk handed them each a warm chocolate chip cookie. Strike’s hands were full with the luggage, so Robin took both cookies. Once they were in the lift, Robin took a bite of her cookie. It was warm, and gooey, and chocolaty, and amazing. She closed her eyes and moaned as she savored the rich, gooey, goodness.

“Give us some.” Strike held his mouth open for a bite.

Robin giggled and fed him a bite of his cookie. Her finger brushed ever so slightly against his lip, causing her heart to stutter. His eyes widened in surprise, “Wow that is good.”

Robin was smirking at him. “What?” He asked around his mouthful of cookie. 

“You’ve got chocolate, just there.” She pointed at the corner of his mouth. His tongue darted out to try and catch it. She giggled and shook her head, “Nope, still there.”

He looked helplessly at his hands full of luggage. 

“Here, let me.” She wiped the spot of chocolate off with her thumb, thrilled for a reason to touch his lips again.

A voice in Strike’s head asked him if it would be inappropriate to lick the chocolate off her thumb. _Shut up, you._ Another part of him hoped she would lick the chocolate off herself. He was slightly disappointed when she wiped her thumb on the paper cookie wrapper instead. Before he could say something stupid, the lift doors opened onto their floor.

“So, what’s on the agenda?” He asked.

“I didn’t plan much for today, because I thought we might be tired after the flight. We could check out the tea room? It’s actually a museum for the Boston Tea Party, but they have a tea room as well.”

“The Boston Tea Party? As in…” Strike sounded amused.

Robin cut him off, “As in what started America’s separation from Britain? Yeah, but it’s supposed to be one of the top attractions in Boston. And unfortunately, probably the closest thing we’ll get to a proper cuppa while we’re here. So how about we take a few minutes to freshen up and then we can go explore?” Strike agreed.

Once in his room, he realized that Robin was probably right. He didn’t see a kettle in the room, but there was a coffee maker and what looked like two very questionable bags of tea. Just as with his cigarettes, he suddenly wanted what he couldn’t have. Maybe the museum sold some proper English tea? Or would that be too ironic?

After taking care of some hygiene necessities in the bathroom and unpacking a few of his clothes, he went next door to Robin’s room. The door was propped open by the latch. He assumed that meant he was free to enter, but felt awkward about just barging into her room. He compromised by knocking as he opened the door. Robin was hanging his suits next to her dresses in the small closet. He experienced a small thrill when he saw his suits hanging next to the green Vashti dress. He wasn’t sure what excited him more, the sight of the dress, or _his_ clothes hanging in _her_ closet. He mentally slapped himself. _Control yourself_.

***

The Tea Party museum was quirky and cheesy, but fun nonetheless. Strike imagined it was probably more enjoyable if you weren’t on the receiving end of the historical “fuck you” that the museum represented. But he had fun anyway, taking selfies with Robin along the tour and next to the ship replica. He especially enjoyed it when Robin suggested that they should try to look cozier in the photos. They were supposed to be engaged after all, and their new “friends” might want to see pictures of their first stop. He soon found himself suggesting more photo ops, just to have an excuse to lean his face in next to Robin’s.

The tea room was also cheesy, complete with play actors dressed as colonial Americans, but the tea wasn’t bad. They ate sandwiches and enjoyed the views of the harbor. Robin bought a souvenir mug from the gift shop. She found Strike in the tea section of the shop, moodily browsing what turned out to be all loose-leaf teas. She laughed and told him that she had packed a box of his favorite brand. 

“Bloody good thinking, as always,” he said as he clapped her on the back.

***

They finished the day in Cheers, the bar that inspired the sitcom. The sign and street outside were exactly the same as in the show, but Strike was a little disappointed to find that the interior looked nothing like that of the show.

Robin just shrugged and said, “That was a bit before my time, I’m afraid.”

“You’ve never seen _Cheers_?”

“I’ve seen a couple of episodes, but I don’t remember what the bar looked like,” Robin said defensively.

A waitress arrived with their drinks. Strike was disappointed but not surprised to find that they didn’t have any of his favorite beers. He ordered a Samuel Adams Boston Lager, which wasn’t bad, but definitely not as good as Doom Bar. Robin ordered a cheap white wine, which was terrible.

Strike laughed at her, “I told you, stop trying to be so polite. I’m pretty sure Gloria Vanderbilt won’t care if you order a $14 glass of wine instead of a $9 glass. She’s sent us on what is basically a holiday, for fuck’s sake.”

Robin agreed and resolved to let herself enjoy their free “holiday”.

“So what’s on the docket for tomorrow?” Strike asked.

“Cape Cod. It’s about an hour and half drive, is that okay?”

“Sure, why not?”

“Did you bring any swimming trunks?” Robin was trying not to squirm in her seat as she pictured Strike shirtless and lying in the sun.

“Er…No, I don’t have any.” The truth was that he didn’t have any that weren’t ancient or that still fit. “But I’m not one for swimming anyway.” He gestured at his missing leg. Before he could start imagining Robin in a swimsuit ( _One-piece? Bikini? Stop. It._ ), he turned the conversation to the job at hand, discussing what they had researched about the two oil companies.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope none of my British friends take offense to the "historical fuck you" comment, but let's face it, that's exactly what the Boston Tea Party was. I couldn't resist a little Revolutionary War history, since this fic is about the 4th of July and all.  
> FYI, I love England! But I am American, first and foremost lol.


	4. "You can look"

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Our delightful duo enjoy a day at the beach, and both of them get an eyeful.

Monday morning they went to a small grocery store to buy some picnic supplies for their trip to Cape Cod. They bought lobster rolls, salt and vinegar crisps that were aptly named Cape Cod, a package of bottled water, and some yogurt and fruit for breakfast. Strike lamented the lack of eggs for breakfast, so he added an extra lobster roll to the basket. Robin found a large display of disposable Styrofoam coolers, so she selected a small one and a bag of ice.

The drive was pleasant and seemed to pass surprisingly quickly. As they got nearer to the beach, they stopped at a tourist shop to buy some swimming trunks for Strike. He selected a basic red pair, grumbling the whole time. Robin picked out a wide-brimmed straw hat with a blue ribbon that would hopefully match her swimsuit, and a couple of beach towels.

Being a Monday, there was hardly anyone else at the beach. Strike was glad there were no witnesses to his rather ungainly walk across the sand. Soft surfaces were extremely hard to navigate with his false foot. 

Robin walked slightly in front of him. He took the opportunity to appreciate the view. She looked… _adorable_. Her hair was tied into a knot at the nape of her neck, and the ribbon on her hat perfectly matched her eyes. Strike wondered if she had chosen it for that reason. He could see the tie of her swimsuit peeking out of the neck of her grey t-shirt. He dropped his gaze to her long legs. She was wearing denim shorts, and her legs looked creamy and smooth. Shaking himself slightly, he resolutely looked away. _Behave!_

He had to distract himself again as Robin started to shimmy out of her shorts and remove her shirt. He couldn’t help but watch covertly as he spread their towels out on the sand. _Pervy fucker_ , he chastised himself. She was wearing a two-piece swimsuit. It was green and blue striped, which looked lovely with her fair skin. The bottoms were high-waisted with a thin white belt. The top was a halter style with a ruffle along the plunging neckline, showing just a hint of cleavage. It looked both old-fashioned and modern at the same time, modest but sexy. Somehow the hint of stomach and décolletage that showed was sexier than if she had been wearing a string bikini.

As Robin sat on her towel, Strike realized that he was still standing there, staring like a total prat. _Get control of yourself_ , he thought as he sat on his towel. But then Robin started rubbing sun cream on herself. He swallowed hard and looked the other direction.

“Would you like some?”

Strike gave a visible start and turned to look at her, certain her question didn’t mean what his brain had just interpreted. She was holding the sun cream out towards him.

“Oh, thanks.” He quickly rubbed some on his face.

“Aren’t you going to get comfortable?” She asked.

“I am comfortable.”

Robin rolled her eyes and looked pointedly at his clothes, then gestured at her body. “I meant, we’re at a beach.”

He didn’t say anything, looking a little unsure.

Robin correctly guessed the cause for his disquiet and rolled her eyes again. “If you’re worried about your leg, there’s nobody here. I’m pretty sure the seagulls won’t mind.” She shrugged and added, “Besides, we’re on holiday. Who cares?”

“Are you trying to get me out of my clothes, Ellacott?”

She said nothing as she waggled her eyebrows at him. He gave an exasperated sigh and muttered, “Fine,” as he stripped off his shirt and track suit bottoms.

As much as Robin would have liked to enjoy the sight of his muscled chest and arms, she closed her eyes and lay back on her towel. They lay in silence for a while, enjoying the sunshine and the salty breeze.

After what felt like hours, Robin’s skin was starting to feel warm. She sat up to put on more sun cream. Strike looked like he might be asleep. She took the opportunity to gaze appreciatively at his rather hairy torso. He looked so _manly_ , with those dark curls spread across his chest, trailing down his stomach, disappearing beneath the waistband of his trunks. He didn’t have the perfectly defined muscles of a bodybuilder, but he did look quite strong. Robin looked up to see that he was watching her ogling him, and gave a small cough to hide her embarrassment. His ego purred like a contented kitten.

“You’re shoulders look a little pink,” she said and handed him the sun cream. 

While he slathered some on his shoulders, she turned around with her back facing him. “Would you mind? I can’t reach,” she said, indicating her back. _What are you doing, Ellacott? This is dangerous territory._

He gently spread some cream across her back, trying not to touch her more than was strictly necessary. Somehow she found humor in his obvious discomfort, even though she was feeling a little awkward herself. She laughed, and said, “You know, if we’re supposed to be engaged, we need to learn to look a lot more at ease with this kind of thing. I’m pretty sure the look on your face would blow our cover.”

He laughed, “Good point. What do you propose?”

“Well, I think this is good practice. Maybe we should use today and tomorrow to get into character.”

“Perhaps we should also talk about boundaries,” he added. “What all are you comfortable with?”

“Anything, I suppose. I trust you.” She poked him in the ribs with her finger.

_Is she flirting or “getting into character”? Two can play that game._

“Anything?” He waggled his eyebrows at her suggestively and she rolled her eyes and leaned back on her towel.

“Oh, speaking of…” He picked up his track suit bottoms, which dumped sand on his legs. He brushed it off with a muttered curse and pulled a small box out of the pocket. “I thought you might need a ring, since we’re supposed to be engaged.”

He handed her the box. Inside was a thin silver band with a square cut diamond-like gem surrounded by a ring of smaller gems.

“It’s fake, of course, but hopefully no one will notice. I had to guess on the size.”

“Cormoran, it’s beautiful! It looks really real!” She slipped it on her finger. It was slightly too big, but not loose enough to accidentally fall off.

Strike was still brushing sand off his legs. “Bloody hell, I think some got in my damn prosthesis.” He started taking his leg off, and Robin averted her eyes, hoping she wasn’t too obvious.

“You can look, you know.”

“What?” Robin turned back around. He was smirking at her.

“You can look. At my leg. That look on your face would blow our cover,” he repeated her own words back to her. “If we’re engaged, you will have seen my stump before.”

“Fine.” She stared at it pointedly. “Happy now?”

He laughed as he spread some powder on the end. “There, hopefully that will keep sand from sticking to it.”

She was still staring determinedly at his stump, causing him to laugh again. “Okay, okay, you’ve made your point.”

They fell back into silence, enjoying the sun once again. Robin flipped over onto her stomach, allowing the sun to warm her back.

After they ate their lobster rolls and crisps, Strike reattached his leg and they gathered their things. Somehow their stuff no longer fit into the beach bag that Robin had brought, so they carried everything awkwardly back to the car. Strike dropped his bottle of water and bent to pick it up. His trunks caught on an exposed nail on the fence post, resulting in an audible rip as he stepped forward.

Robin turned around, and saw a large swath of trunks flapping in the wind, exposing a patch of his hip and the side of his arse. He quickly dropped everything he was holding and tried to cover himself. Robin roared with laughter. Strike’s cheeks reddened, causing Robin to laugh even harder. He picked up one of the towels and wrapped it around himself. Robin helped him pick up the other items, still rolling with laughter.

Robin was still giggling as they drove away. Her mirth was infections, and he soon found himself laughing right along with her.

“Since we’re ‘engaged’, I guess it makes sense that you will have seen my arse,” he chuckled.

Robin had to pull over and wipe the tears from her eyes, she was still laughing so hard.


	5. No Problem

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Just a fun bit of culture shock.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I never thought our restaurant culture was odd until I went to Europe. Now it drives me crazy. I much prefer the European approach.

They returned to their hotel to shower before dinner at the seafood restaurant Robin had picked out. They had just been seated at their table when the waitress appeared and asked what they would like to drink. 

Strike stumbled, “I…don’t know yet…still looking.”

The waitress responded with, “No problem,” and walked away.

Strike and Robin looked at each other, a little startled. “Bit keen, isn’t she?” Robin asked.

They had each just started looking at the drink menu when the waitress returned, no less than two minutes later. “Are you ready?”

Feeling not the least bit ready, Strike ordered the first beer on the menu, a Bud Light, and Robin asked for a water and chose a white wine at random.

“Geez… is she in a hurry or what?”

“I read about this online, a lot of people complaining that they felt rushed in American restaurants, but I didn’t know it be so….”

“Disconcerting?” Strike finished for her.

Robin giggled as the waitress placed a glass of water in front of her, completely filled with ice, and garnished with a lemon wedge. Robin was quite thirsty after their day in the sun, and she drank down half of it in one go. Another waiter almost immediately came over with a jug and refilled her glass as yet another waitress brought their alcohol over.

Strike took a drink of his beer and pulled a face.

“No good?” Robin asked.

“It’s got no flavor,” he complained. “Here, you try it, you might actually like it.”

Robin thrilled as she touched her lips to Strike’s glass, close to where his lips had been. “Mmm, that’s not bad. I can see why you wouldn’t like it, though.”

“No, but it goes down easy.” Strike took a drink, draining most of his glass. 

Their waitress appeared a minute later and gestured to his glass, “Would you like another?”

“Erm...” He picked up the drink menu again. “What’s a Blue Moon?” He asked.

“It’s a Belgian style white beer.”

“Okay, I’ll have one of those.”

“Great, I’ll get that right in. Are you ready to order?”

Strike and Robin looked at each other, then Robin said, “Actually, we haven’t even looked at the menu yet.”

“No problem, take your time.” The waitress walked away again.

Strike chuckled, “Do you think she means that?”

“I don’t know, but hurry up and pick something before she comes back.”

When the waitress returned a short time later with Strike’s beer, she again asked them if they were ready to order. They chose a crab and shrimp boil to share, which promised over two pounds of meat. Strike picked the orange wedge off his glass, grumbling that beer shouldn’t be served with fruit.

They ate their fill of crab legs, shrimp, andouille sausage, potatoes, and corn on the cobb. Strike felt that it more than made up for what he had considered a pitiful breakfast. They were both still chewing when their waitress asked them if they had “saved any room for dessert.” Robin hesitated, caught off-guard, and shook her head. The waitress then placed the bill on their table and said, “No rush,” and walked away.

Through a mouthful of potato, Strike asked, “Do you think that means ‘get the fuck out’?”

Robin shrugged, then laughed as Strike pulled out his wallet and said, “I guess I should go ahead and take care of this before she comes and beats me over the head with it.”

Looking at the tab, Strike mumbled something about the bloody tax, then asked, “How much am I supposed to tip?”

“Fifteen percent is what I read.”

Strike did the math in his head, grumbling that what he thought would be a $140 bill had somehow become a $180 bill, causing Robin to remind him that it wasn’t their money and he should just shut up and enjoy it.

***

Back at their hotel, Strike stopped Robin before she went into her room. “There’s one thing we haven’t discussed yet.”

“What’s that?”

He had only had three beers with dinner, but as he looked into Robin’s eyes, he felt rather tipsy. “You said you would be fine with anything, but what about kissing?” He took a step towards her, causing her to back up against her door. “I won’t try to take advantage or anything, but what if a situation comes up where it would be awkward if we didn’t?”

Robin’s voice came out a little squeaky. She cleared her throat. “I guess that would be fine. Like I said, I trust you.”

“Do you think we should try it out, so we don’t look uncomfortable when the moment arrives?” His heart was beating very fast. This afternoon’s sun had brought out the freckles on her cheeks. Her face looked a little pink. Was it the sun, the wine, or this conversation? He moved closer to her, resting his hand on the door frame next to her head.

“That’s probably a good idea.” Her voice sounded too high pitched. Her heart felt like it was going to leap out of her chest. He was standing so close. She could feel his warmth, smell the soap from his shower earlier. His hand next to her head was incredibly distracting.

“Stop me anytime you feel uncomfortable,” he murmured as he leaned his head closer to hers.

She nodded, lifting her chin to welcome his lips. He touched his lips to hers very lightly at first, then a little more firmly as his lips moved over hers. Robin mirrored his movements, desperately trying to stop herself from ramming her tongue into his mouth. He was trying to give her a close-mouthed, appropriate for the situation kiss _. Be professional!_ she reprimanded herself. But it was extremely difficult. His mouth was soft and warm and gentle, and tasted slightly of beer. He wasn’t touching her, except for his mouth, but his nearness, the _almost_ touching, somehow made the kiss even sexier. Her hands ached to tangle in his hair. They here halfway up to his head when she stopped herself. He pulled away, her hands still in the air, fingers twitching.

“Okay?” He asked.

She nodded, and he grinned when he saw her hands held helplessly aloft in no-man’s land. She flushed and fumbled for her key card.

“Goodnight,” she muttered hurriedly, letting herself into her room. He was still leaning against the door frame, looking unbelievably sexy.

“Goodnight,” he said, voice husky, and walked into his room with a slight spring in his step.


	6. Aloe Vera

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Strike and Robin discuss their "relationship".

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to hobbeshalftail3469 for the restaurant suggestions.

Robin shut her door and leaned against it. She lightly touched her lips, remembering the feel of Cormoran’s mouth on hers. He had said, “I won’t try to take advantage.” Did that mean he wanted to kiss her? For real? 

She knew that it would be easy for her to play the role of his fiancé. She had finally admitted to herself weeks ago that she was in love with him. But he was so reserved most of the time, she hadn’t been able to get a read on his feelings. There had been hints of course. That hug at her wedding, for one. But there were also many moments in the office, or in the Tottenham, or at curry night with the Herberts. And he wasn’t seeing anyone right now, which was unusual for him. In fact, he had been single since she left Matthew. 

But if he was interested in her, why hadn’t he made a move yet? It wasn’t like him to be shy about approaching a woman. When this case was finished, could she go back to normal after allowing herself to be romantic with him? _This isn’t wise._

She ignored that part of her brain telling her to be careful. She allowed herself to replay the kiss over and over in her head, dreaming up more scenarios where she would have an excuse to kiss him.

***

Strike had just finished showering when Robin knocked on his door the next morning. He was only half dressed, still trying to dry the hair on his head and chest. Robin had already seen him shirtless yesterday, so there was no point in being modest now. 

Robin had to stifle a gasp as Strike opened the door, wearing jeans and no shirt, rubbing a towel through his hair. Her eyes dropped to his chest where the hair also looked slightly damp. He turned sideways to let her pass through the door and she noticed that he had droplets of water running down his sides where his towel had apparently missed. 

“Here, I made you some tea. No milk, I’m afraid.” She handed him a cup of steaming tea, the perfect color of creosote.

He picked up a packet of powdered creamer from the coffee supplies, thought better of it, and dropped it back on the table.

“Your shoulders look a little sunburnt,” Robin noticed. “Is it painful?”

Strike winced a little as the towel scraped over his tender skin. “A bit, yeah.”

“I have some aloe vera, I’ll go get it.”

She returned a few moments later with a green tube and said, “Here, allow me.”

Strike sat on the corner of the bed while Robin smeared the healing goo over his shoulders. Her fingers were gentle and the gel was slightly cool, which felt amazing against his overly warm skin. Though he thoroughly appreciated it, he regretted allowing her to do this for him. He was enjoying her ministrations a little more than was strictly appropriate. Especially since her chest was at eye level, and dangerously close.

“There. I’m afraid you’ll have to let that dry a bit before you put a shirt on.”

“Thanks. So what’s for breakfast?” He changed the subject and sipped on his tea just to have something to do with his hands. She had seen him without a shirt yesterday, but that was at the beach. Here in his hotel room, he felt completely naked, even though he was wearing jeans. His lack of clothing felt far more intimate when he was seated on a bed than on the sand.

“There’s a café down the street, and then I thought we could take a walking tour called the Freedom Trail, if you’re up for it.”

“Feed me first and I’ll be up for anything,” Strike said as he drained the last of his tea.

***

The café was rather busy, but they were seated fairly quickly. A waiter set two glasses of ice water on their table and a small bowl of lemon wedges. They hadn’t asked for either. Both ordered coffee and perused the menu, trying to decide quickly before their waiter had the chance to badger them about what they wanted. Robin chose a vegetable frittata and Strike ordered the “big Charlie’s special”, which included eggs, ham, bacon, sausage, potatoes, and pancakes.

Strike’s coffee was nearly half empty when a passing waitress filled up his mug without asking. He looked at Robin and whispered, “Is that free?”

“I believe all drink refills are free, except alcohol.”

Strike raised his eyebrows appreciatively as he assessed how much milk and sugar to add to get his coffee back to the right proportions.

They ate in companionable silence, occasionally mentioning something about the case or the trip. Strike enjoyed how he was able to just be present with Robin, without either of them feeling the need to the fill the silence with chatter. This reminded him of a scene from _When Harry Met Sally_. 

Robin sat back from her mostly empty plate, feeling thoroughly stuffed. Strike was just starting on his pancakes as their waiter cleared the empty plates away. Robin felt slightly uncomfortable watching her partner finish eating with nothing in front of her, so she requested more coffee.

Strike pushed his plate towards her, “You have to try these pancakes, they’re so fluffy.”

“The waiter took my silverware.”

“Here, just use mine.” Strike stabbed a bite of syrupy goodness and reached across the table to feed it to Robin. She felt her cheeks warm slightly as her lips closed around the same fork that had been in his mouth.

“Good?”

“Mm-hmm,” she said, licking the syrup off of her lips. Strike watched the path of her tongue.

“I hope I didn’t make you uncomfortable last night,” he blurted out.

“Oh, not at all.” Robin cleared her throat. “You’re right, we need to look natural together.”

Strike took care of the bill, which had arrived while he was still finishing his pancakes. 

“So what’s our backstory?” Robin continued as he was signing the bottom of the receipt.

“Our backstory?”

“You know, as a couple.”

“Oh, I hadn’t thought about it.”

Robin rolled her eyes. “Have you not done much undercover work?”

Strike grinned and said, “No, that’s usually your job.”

“I find it’s best to stick to the truth as much as possible. So we can say we’ve been together almost three years. We met at work, and we were friends first, and eventually we realized we had feelings for each other.”

Amused, Strike wondered if Robin was counting that last bit as truth as well. “So who made the first move?” He scraped up the last of his pancakes.

“I can’t believe you ate all of that. I don’t know if I should be impressed or not.” Robin was eyeing him with raised eyebrows, her expression somewhere between amused and appalled.

Strike winked at her. He wanted more coffee, but ever since the bill had arrived, their waiter had been mysteriously absent and his mug sat disappointingly empty. Accepting it as what he liked to think of as the cue to “get the fuck out”, he suggested they leave.

Outside on the pavement, he took out his e-cig for a few puffs. “Back to my earlier question, who made the first move?”

“You did,” Robin answered without hesitation.

“What was our first date?” Strike asked, grinning.

“We went to dinner and had drinks, and then you walked me home and kissed me. Like I said, as much truth as possible.”

“Okay, how did I propose?” Strike was thoroughly amused now.

“Oh, no. I’m not doing that one for you. You’ll have to come up with that story yourself.” Robin smiled at him and slipped her hand into his as they walked towards the car. He gave her a questioning look.

“Getting into character, remember?” She explained.

He nodded and changed his grip on her hand, intertwining their fingers. Her hand was delicate and smooth, and he quite liked the feel of her fingers locked with his. He liked it a little more than he probably should.


	7. Dating

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A fair bit of flirting ensues, helped along by beer and baseball.

They drove in silence to the Freedom Trail. They lingered in the back of the tour, not really interested in the history. Strike had taken the initiative and grasped her hand again as they walked.

“Tell me something personal about yourself,” Robin said.

“Why?”

Robin nudged him in the shoulder. “How you get all these gorgeous women to go out with you is beyond me. ‘Why’.” She rolled her eyes. “I’m supposed to be your fiancé. What kind of things do you normally talk about on a date?”

“Actually, I normally let her do most of the talking.”

“Why am I not surprised?” Robin muttered under her breath.

“What’s that supposed to mean?” He was amused, rather than offended. His dating technique always worked pretty well for him, so he couldn’t understand why Robin seemed to think he could use some improvement.

“I mean that you hold your cards very close to the vest. You don’t like to share anything personal.”

“For your information, I let the woman do the talking because it makes me seem like a good listener, which they appear to appreciate.”

“Ah, but it’s not really fair is it? Then you know everything about them, but they know nothing about you.”

“What are you implying?” Strike was less amused now. It sounded like Robin had crossed from teasing him to chastising him.

She stopped walking and turned to face him, looking him in the eye. “That you don’t want people to get close to you.” 

There was something in her voice that almost sounded... _hurt_. He realized that this entire conversation could also be applied to their own friendship, and he suddenly wondered if by “people” she meant herself. He raised one eyebrow, accepting her challenge.

“All right, ask me anything.”

“How old were when you had your first kiss?”

Strike laughed, “With an endless possibility of questions, that’s what you decide to go with?” Robin just grinned at him as they tried to catch up with the tour group.

“I was 13, I think? Yeah, 13. I had no idea what I was doing. Our teeth knocked together, it was awful.” He turned and gave her a cheeky grin. “I like to think I’ve learned a thing or two since then.” Robin’s cheeks pinked a little, which of course, was his intention.

“Why don’t you want people to see your prosthesis?” Her voice was quiet, and a little hesitant.

He considered her question for a moment, then answered just as quietly, “I suppose it’s because I don’t like to see their pity. Or disgust.”

They walked in silence for a moment. Then, as if she hadn’t just asked the most personal question of all, Robin said, “If you could only eat one food for the rest of your life, what would it be?”

He laughed, and gave her hand a gentle squeeze. He loved this about Robin. She never made him feel as if she were watching him for signs of weakness. She understood what it was like to receive pity and patronizing looks or comments. She accepted him, as is. He always felt comfortable around her.

She continued to ask him ridiculously silly questions, carefully avoiding anything else that might be too personal. At some point, they lost the tour completely and continued exploring on their own. They took more selfies, with Robin leaning into his chest and Strike putting his arm around her waist. Both felt closer and more at ease with each other than they ever had before.

***

They left for the baseball game early that afternoon. They took the metro train, as parking was difficult to find around the stadium. The area around Fenway was charming and inviting, and full of bars and pubs. They found a pub called Boston Beer Works that had a good selection of craft beer. The wine list was extremely limited, so Robin ordered a Downeast cider. Strike worked his way through the beer list, trying a Boho Pils, Old School, Baltification, and OG Red. 

“Why do they give all their beers such odd names?” He asked Robin, as he considered trying something called Witty Beer Name Here.

Robin shrugged. She was quite enjoying the cider, passing into the “rather tipsy” stage of drunkenness. Some of the beers that Strike had ordered had a rather high alcohol content. Robin noted that after four pints, he seemed to be a little further along the tipsy path than he normally was at this point. He was already quite chatty, and he was now entering the touchy-feely stage. This usually only happened when he was at least six pints in. Of course, “touchy-feely” for Strike wasn’t really that touchy-feely. For him, it normally meant that he would nudge her knee with his, or touch her arm, or bump her with his shoulder.

Tonight however, he kept leaning toward her across the corner of the table and putting his arm on the back of her chair. Every time he would say something to her, he would lean in and say it in her ear. His leg was firmly pressed against hers. As the bar got more crowded, he scooted over on the bench and gestured for her to sit next to him. He gave her the excuse that it was getting too loud and he couldn’t hear her. His arm was resting along the bench behind her. Every time he would lean in to say something, his hand would come down to rest on her arm.

Robin’s drunken mind tried to decipher the cause for this deviation from his usual behavior. Was it the closeness that had developed during their walking tour this afternoon, or was this his way of getting into character as her fiancé? Or was she imagining it and it really was just too loud for normal conversation?

The bar was starting to clear out as people starting going into the stadium for the game. Strike paid their rather hefty tab, and they left to join the queue. Inside the stadium, Robin bought a cap at one of the souvenir stands. It was a faded navy blue with a pink Boston B on the front. She tried to talk Strike into getting one too, but he vehemently declined, stating that hats never fit over his hair right. 

They bought hotdogs and more beer on their way to their seats, which were in center field.

“Too bad we couldn’t get seats on the Green Monster,” he said as they took their seats.

Robin looked at him, confused. “What?”

“It’s what they call that giant wall,” he said, pointing to the green wall next to them. “I thought everyone knew that.”

“I don’t even follow British sports, let alone American sports,” Robin responded.

Their seats were quite small. Strike’s knees were wedged up against the seat in front of him, so he angled himself towards Robin a bit. His leg was now pressed against hers again, and he rested his arm on the back of her seat. Robin relished his closeness. In her rather tipsy state, she had no qualms about leaning into his shoulder. His hand dropped to her shoulder, lightly rubbing her upper arm.

They enjoyed watching the game, but enjoyed each other’s company far more. Robin sang along to “Take Me Out To The Ballgame”, and later to “Sweet Caroline”. Strike even joined in with a fist bump on the “bum bum bum”, which caused them both to dissolve into a drunken fit of giggles.

The game was over, and neither of them knew or cared what the final score was, as the beer had continued to flow throughout the game. Robin wanted to take one last selfie. Right as she was about to click the button, Strike surprised her by kissing her on the cheek. The resulting picture was absolutely adorable, showing a grinning Strike stealing a kiss and Robin’s nose scrunched and laughing. It was her favorite picture of the trip, despite it being just a little blurry. 

***

Back at the hotel, Robin invited Strike back to her room. They were both too drunk and too wired to go straight to bed, even though they needed to get up early for their flight the next morning. So they lounged on Robin’s bed, all awkwardness forgotten, and watched TV and drank copious amounts of water.

“My turn,” Strike said abruptly.

“What?” Robin looked at him, confused and giggly, still feeling rather tipsy.

“My turn to ask personal questions. Why did you stay married to Matthew? I thought after that wedding….” He trailed off, unsure of how to finish his statement. 

“I didn’t intend to. We only went on the ‘honeymoon’ to get away from our families, so we could figure things out. We hardly even spent time together, honestly. I had just decided that I was going to end it when I came back from a walk on the beach and found him horribly ill. He had gotten a bad infection, and then what kind of person would I be if I told him I wanted an annulment when he was so ill? After that, I honestly don’t know why I stayed. Afraid of disappointing everyone, I suppose,” she finished quietly. 

“Marriage is hard enough without bringing such low expectations into it,” Strike responded.

Robin looked at him, wide eyed, then started laughing. “Did you just quote _Sleepless in Seattle_?”

Strike looked like he had accidentally leaked a national secret. “No!” He exclaimed, but he wasn’t convincing.

Robin playfully swatted his arm. “Cormoran Strike, do you watch chick flicks? I knew it! You’re just a big softy!”

He looked highly affronted, and said in as dignified a voice as he could muster, “I saw that one on a date, if you must know.”

“Yeah, and how many times have you seen it since then?” She playfully shoved him again.

“A few. A lot. Okay, I love that movie,” he admitted, chuckling.

Robin reached to shove him again, but he caught her by the wrist and pinned her down. With one hand, he held both of her wrists firmly, while he tickled her with the other hand. She squealed and writhed beneath him, laughing. Suddenly, neither of them found it so funny anymore and both of their chuckles died out. He was still hovering over her, both wrists still pinned in his one large hand. They looked deeply into each other’s eyes, breathing heavily. Robin thought he might be about to kiss her, and her lips parted in anticipation.

Strike abruptly released her and rolled off the bed. “I’m sorry, I don’t…” He didn’t finish his thought. “I should get back to my room. I need to get packed for tomorrow and we both need to get some sleep.” 

“Yeah, of course. Goodnight.” Robin felt something akin to shame, feeling that she may have misread the situation.

He gave her a small, almost sad smile. He squeezed her forearm and kissed her on top of her head as he whispered, “Goodnight.”

Back in his room, Strike splashed cold water on his face and stared at himself in the mirror, a hard expression on his face. His possessions were forced to bear the brunt of his frustration as he threw them haphazardly into his luggage.


	8. Southern Hospitality

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Strike and Robin arrive in Tulsa and get a dose of good ol' southern hospitality.

Strike chastised himself throughout the whole of his morning routine. He had very nearly kissed Robin last night, and not in a professional manner, if a kiss could ever be professional. He had thought that she wanted him to kiss her, but then he remembered that they were both supposed to be playing a role. Robin was a very good actress. Did Robin his friend want him to kiss her, or did Robin his fake fiancé want him to kiss her?

This role was easy for him. He simply had to lift the wall that he normally kept around his feelings for Robin. But he was playing a dangerous game. In just one day, he had allowed all of the little fake flirtations and games to cloud his judgement and overwhelm his emotions. _It was fake, right?_

Of course it was, it had been Robin’s idea to “get into character”. He had promised her that he wouldn’t take advantage. Sure, he had pushed that boundary as far as it would go, by giving her a “practice” kiss, holding her hand, putting his arm around her, touching her. But last night, he had almost let it go too far. She was drunk, they were in her hotel room, on her bed, and he had her hands pinned down. It had suddenly felt very…predatory. He couldn’t do that to Robin. Especially not after everything she had been through. He wanted her to see him as a safe haven, not another sleazy fucker just trying to get in her pants.

He thought he saw hurt or disappointment in her eyes when he excused himself. _Maybe she feels the same?_ In any case, last night wasn’t the way. And not during a case when they have to pretend to be together. The last thing he wanted was for Robin to feel manipulated or pressured in any way. No, when he finally expressed his feelings for her, he wanted it to be right, he wanted Robin to know that he was sincere. It could wait until this case was over and they were back in London. If he could control himself until then, that is. He would have to be more careful.

***

They arrived at the airport later than they had anticipated. It had taken a while to find a petrol station near the airport so they could top off the car before dropping it off. It had taken even longer to find the car drop off location, and then get a shuttle to the departure gates. Thankfully the security checkpoint wasn’t very busy, being fairly early on a Wednesday morning. Even still, they had to rush to their gate. 

By the time they were seated on the plane, both were feeling bad tempered. Robin’s foul mood was caused by her embarrassing faux pas of the previous evening, which had caused her partner’s work/personal shutters to come down again. Strike’s ill disposition mainly stemmed from the pain in his stump and knee that started after their mad dash through the airport, though there was still some lingering frustration from his conversation with himself this morning.

Robin saw him wince as he stretched his leg out, and wordlessly handed him some paracetamol that she kept in her purse. He accepted the bottle gratefully and swallowed a couple of pills dry. Both of their moods lightened somewhat during the flight to Tulsa, though they still hadn’t talked much.

***

The Tulsa airport was rather small, but very clean. They had no trouble finding the luggage carousel, which was thankfully a very short walk from their arrival gate. The paracetamol had taken the edge off the pain in his knee, but it was still aching a bit.

They were waiting for their luggage to arrive, Robin looking around anxiously for the rental car counter that was nowhere in sight, when they heard their names.

“Are you Cormoran and Robin?”

They turned around to see a petite woman approaching them. She was a couple inches shorter than Robin, with a slim, delicate build. She had light brown hair pulled up in a ponytail and a pixie-like face that made her look extremely young.

Strike and Robin looked at each other, confused, then turned in unison and nodded at the small woman.

“Hi, I’m Erin, Erin Waters. I’m Gloria’s niece. She told me that you would be arriving today, so I’ve come to pick you up. I’m sure you would like to rest after your flight, but we have to hurry, I’m afraid. The gang is meeting for lunch and Auntie insisted that I bring you.” She looked at her watch and added, “The rest are probably already there.”

She was looking at them expectantly. Strike and Robin both felt a little ambushed, having not expected to get to work immediately after landing. 

Robin was the first to gather her wits. “Of course, but we still need to arrange a car and everything, and I’m afraid neither of us are really dressed for a lunch meeting.”

Erin appraised their clothing. Robin was wearing skinny jeans, a flowy top, and sandals. Strike was wearing khaki trousers and a polo shirt. “You’re fine, you’ll fit right in.”

Now that Robin was paying attention, she noticed that Erin was indeed dressed more casually than she was, with a white sleeveless blouse tucked into navy shorts. 

Strike had just pulled the last of their luggage from the carousel.

“Is that everything? Great, car’s this way,” Erin said as she started walking toward the door, confident that they would follow her. 

She led them to a small black Cadillac SUV that was parked a short distance away. A very large man got out of the driver’s side and came around the back to help with their luggage. He was about as tall as Strike, but much wider. He seemed to be built entirely of muscle, his shirt stretched taught across his shoulders and back. He had short cropped hair and a full beard. Robin had thought Strike was the most intimidating man she had ever seen. This man could definitely give him a run for his money.

“This is my husband, Chris,” Erin said. Chris gave them both dazzling smiles as he shook their hands. Robin noticed that his bicep bulged when he grasped her hand.

“Would you like the front?” Erin asked Strike.

“No, this is fine,” he responded as he climbed in the back seat behind Erin. Robin could see that he was still caught off guard by the abruptness of this first meeting, but was trying to settle into his professional role.

“Sorry to ambush you like this,” Erin was saying. “Aunt Gloria asked me to make sure you guys feel welcome, so I’ll be your tour guide while you’re here.” She turned and gave them a bright smile.

“Thank you, that would be lovely,” Robin responded. Then she remembered, “Oh, what about a car?”

“No problem, you can borrow this one. We have an extra.”

“Thank you,” Robin was struck by this stranger’s generosity.

Strike hadn’t spoken yet. As Chris pulled away from the airport and into traffic, Strike grasped the handle above the door. He looked extremely tense and uncomfortable, even though Erin had pulled her seat up to give him plenty of leg room. Robin suspected his distress stemmed from the way Chris was weaving in and out of traffic without using the indicator. 

They merged onto the highway, and Strike’s left hand clenched into a tight fist on the seat next to him. He looked at the needle on the speedometer and saw that Chris was going at least 10 mph over the speed limit. The car in front of them was going much slower. Chris ran right up on the car, following far too closely, before finally swerving around it. 

Robin reached over and placed her hand over Strike’s fist and gave it a gentle squeeze. He turned to look at her and she mouthed, “Breathe.” There was sweat on his brow and upper lip. Chris must have noticed, because he said, “Y’all getting enough air back there?” He fiddled with the air vents, misinterpreting Strike’s discomfort. Strike sincerely wished he would just keep both hands on the wheel.

Erin had been on the phone with someone from “the gang”, letting them know that they were on their way. After hanging up, she turned in her seat and made pleasant small talk with Robin about their flight and time in Boston. Strike was having difficulty focusing on any of this, as his priority at the moment was regulating his breathing.

They exited the highway onto an extremely derelict street. There were several homeless people on the corner or walking down the side of the road. The buildings had a neglected air about them. They were continually jostled as they drove down the rather dilapidated and pothole ridden road. Robin hoped this was not representative of the whole of Tulsa.

They soon turned onto a much more charming street, full of restaurants and small shops. “This is Cherry Street,” Erin was saying, apparently taking her role as tour guide seriously. “This is kind of the hipster-y area, or one of them anyway. Here we are.”

They pulled up next to an old brick building with a large sign on the corner that said simply “Smoke”. Strike wondered if he would indeed be able to smoke here. His first impression of the interior of the restaurant was that this was the kind of place Matthew would enjoy, but then he noticed a cigar room and he followed Erin and Chris, feeling significantly more cheerful.

Erin made the introductions as they took their seats. “Everyone this is Cormoran and Robin, they’re Gloria’s assistants. This is Gloria’s son Mike and his fiancé Aster.” Robin smiled at their marks as Erin continued, “And this is Josh and Heather, and Travis and Bailey.” Robin waved at the others as Strike gave each a nod.

The group already had drinks and a few appetizers on the table. Strike desperately wanted a pint to calm his nerves after the harrowing car ride, but was disappointed to see that none of the others had alcohol.

A waiter came by a few minutes later to take everyone’s order. There were so many in their group that it gave Robin and Strike time to peruse the menu. Robin ordered the grilled salmon salad and Strike copied Chris by ordering the smoked brisket mac and cheese.

Unfortunately, they were sitting farthest from Mike and Aster, making conversation difficult. Robin was seated next to Bailey, whom she liked instantly. Josh and Heather, on the other hand, Robin instantly did _not_ like. They reminded her strongly of Matthew and Sarah Shadlock. Strike chatted with Travis and Chris, whom he seemed to get on well with despite the latter’s questionable driving skills.

After everyone had finished eating, Mike asked if anyone wanted to join him for a Cuban. Strike gratefully accepted, along with Chris and Travis. Robin took the smaller group as an opportunity to engage Aster in conversation. The woman was very friendly, but had a slight air of snobbishness. Robin doubted very seriously that she would be friends with her outside of work.

***

As they climbed back into the car, the men smelling strongly of cigar smoke, Strike braced himself for what was sure to be another nerve racking ride. 

Erin turned in her seat again. “I’m sure you have a hotel booked, but I simply must insist that you stay with us. You’re here as Aunt Gloria, which makes you practically family, and family doesn’t let family stay in a hotel. We have a guest suite that we rent out on Airbnb, so you’ll have your own space and we’ll stay out of your hair.”

Robin looked like she was about to politely decline, but Erin interrupted her. “Really, it’s either us or my parents. If they find out you’re staying in a hotel, they’ll just come drag you over to their house. I love my parents, but if I were you, I would much rather stay with Chris and I.”

Robin laughed and looked at Strike, who shrugged. “Thank you, that’s very kind of you.”

Erin gave them another dazzling smile as she said, “Excellent!” and turned back around in her seat.

Strike tried to distract himself from Chris’s driving by examining the scenery. After leaving the downtown area and passing a large industrial looking region, it almost looked as if they were leaving the city. There were random patches of civilization, surrounded by long stretches of trees and fields.

“Is all of this part of Tulsa?” Strike asked.

“Yes, we’re on the west side, it’s a little sparser over here. I’m sure this is nothing like what y’all are used to,” Erin the tour guide explained.

“It’s very…green,” Strike noted.

Erin laughed, “Yeah, I guess you’re right. I never really thought about it, but I guess we do have a lot of trees, even in the more populated parts of town.”

They pulled into a rather suburban looking area, with neighborhoods and several new houses being built. Bypassing all of this, they turned down an almost hidden street, overgrown by trees. There were a few houses, all very widely spaced. One house looked very stately, with a large manicured lawn and white columns. There was a large flag pole in the middle of the lawn flying the American flag and another light blue flag beneath it. A smaller American flag was hanging from a pole next to the door of the house. No less than 25 miniature flags decorated the fence line and walkway around the house.

“What is that building?” Robin asked.

Erin looked a little confused. “It’s just a house,” she responded.

“Oh, it looks very official.”

Erin chuckled, catching on. “No, just patriotic. We love our flag ‘round here, ya know.”

They turned onto another semi-hidden road, which turned out to be Erin and Chris’s very long driveway. The house was completely hidden from the street. It was a large, two storey home with a porch that wrapped all the way around. Light blue with dark red shutters, it reminded Robin of something straight out of a Hollywood movie.

They pulled up to the matching detached garage. There was a large field to the right. As Robin stepped out of the car, the most beautiful palomino horse came trotting up to the fence. 

Chris and Strike were unloading the luggage as Erin was pointing to the garage, saying, “This is where you’ll be staying.”

Robin wasn’t paying attention. The horse was bobbing its head, beckoning her over. Chris noticed Robin drifting to the horse and came to join her. “This is Butter. He’s a good boy, very friendly.”

Robin gave the horse a quick pat before remembering there was luggage to take in. Chris helped with the bags as Erin invited them to dinner that evening with her parents. She stated what Chris was grilling out and they wouldn’t take no for an answer. Even as pushy as she was, Robin was really starting to like her. 

“We’ll just let you get settled. Both of our numbers are in the guest book, so just holler if you need anything. Dinner’s at 6, so just come over to the big house when you’re ready.” Chris handed Strike the car keys and he and Erin made their exit, giving their guests some privacy.

It wasn’t until they entered the small apartment above the garage that Robin and Strike realized their mistake in accepting the Waters’ hospitality. Their hosts thought they were engaged, and they just had agreed to stay in a small studio apartment. With one bed. 


	9. Battle Wounds

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The boys share war stories and receive some sympathy from their ladies. Well, Strike does anyway.

“Fuck.”

Robin and Strike looked around in horror at the small studio apartment. It was charmingly decorated, with a full, albeit small, kitchen, a small loveseat sofa, and a large king sized bed. The colors were all navy, red, and white, with a very Americana vibe. The throw pillows on the sofa matched the quilt on the bed, making Robin wonder if both were handmade. It was the bed that grabbed the attention of both detectives.

“Do you think it’s too late to get a hotel?”

“Probably, unless you want Erin or her parents to track us down. I’m starting to think she wasn’t kidding about that,” Robin responded.

“I can sleep on the sofa,” Strike was saying.

Robin, who anticipated this bout of chivalry, was already cutting him off. “Don’t be ridiculous. _I_ wouldn’t even fit on that.”

Robin’s mouth had gone dry. There was really only one option. “We’ll just have to share. It’s large, we’ll have plenty of room. We’re both adults,” she said more calmly than she felt. She then strode confidently into the room and placed her bags in the corner, taking out her laptop. “Shall we compare notes on lunch?”

Strike shook himself, deciding that work was exactly the distraction he needed. However, his mind seemed determined to return to the sleeping arrangements. Maybe he could sleep on the floor. Even as he thought it, he knew that Robin wouldn’t let him, nor did he really fancy the idea. They didn’t really know how long they would need to stay here, and he was certain his back and his knee would not tolerate even one night on the hard floor. 

He realized Robin was speaking. He looked up questioningly. “Hm? What’s that?”

Robin smirked a little. “I said, why don’t you see if you can find a kettle. I could use some tea.”

Robin started her laptop and created a new file for the case while Strike rummaged in the kitchen for a kettle and came up empty handed. There was however, a coffee maker that they could use to boil water. 

“Tea’s is in my suitcase,” Robin said absently as she started typing notes.

Strike hesitantly opened Robin’s suitcase, hoping he wouldn’t have to dig through her clothes to find the box of tea. Thankfully, it was right on top. Though before he closed the case again, he spotted a box of tampons poking out from beneath some of her clothes. He was suddenly faced with the magnitude of the situation they now found themselves in. They were locked together in extremely intimate circumstances. 

Not only would they be sleeping in the same place, but they would be showering in the same place, dressing in the same place, shitting in the same place. _Oh god_. He would know what Robin’s pajamas looked like. He would likely see her without a bra. He might even see her bra. And now he would know intimate details of her menstrual cycle. _Fuck!_ He didn’t bring any pajamas. He’d have to forgo his preferred sleeping attire, which was nothing, and wear his boxers.

Strike was extremely glad that Robin was currently engrossed in her computer. While he waited for the water to warm, he excused himself to the bathroom to splash cold water on his face, trying to get his sudden embarrassment and anxiety under control. He took several deep breaths and returned to finish the tea, feeling somewhat calmer.

He sat next to Robin on the tiny sofa and pulled out his little notebook. He hadn’t written anything in it yet, but it helped him think. Having never worked on a case that was purely subjective, he deferred to Robin. He wasn’t used to not having a mystery to solve or some truth to uncover. She was much better with people, so he let her take the lead on judging the character of Aster.

Wanting to be as thorough as possible, Robin created files for each person in “the gang”, with tabs for quotes, behavior, and demeanor. She created another file for business proceedings. 

While she typed, Strike got up to look for biscuits. The apartment had been stocked with food and drink, though he seriously doubted he would find any of his favorite chocolate biscuits or custard creams. He idly wondered if it was always like this, or had the Waters anticipated them staying here? He eyed a box of Oreos, which seemed to be the closest he would get. They probably wouldn’t go well with the tea, but beggars can’t be choosers.

***

They worked for most of the afternoon, then took some time to unpack before going to dinner. Erin was in the kitchen, preparing food, while Chris showed them inside. There were several pictures on the mantle above the fireplace, including one of Chris in military uniform, next to a medal showcased in a box. The medal was heart-shaped, hanging from a purple ribbon. Strike thought he recognized it.

“You were military?” He asked Chris.

“Marines. Honorable discharge. Served two tours, one in Baghdad and one in Afghanistan. My unit was actually one of the first into Baghdad after 9/11. We went in thinking it would be a suicide mission, but miraculously we didn’t have a single casualty. Someone was looking out for us that day. Other troops weren’t so lucky, of course,” he finished quietly.

Strike pointed at the medal. “I’ve seen these. What’s it for?”

“If you’re wounded or killed in action. I got that after Afghanistan.” To Robin’s surprise, Chris pulled up his shirt to show his well-toned abdomen. “I was shot four times. This one was a through and through,” he pointed to a scar on his stomach and turned to indicate a slightly larger one on his back. He then pointed to another on his stomach, “This one they had to dig out in surgery.” He pulled the neck of his t-shirt down to show a similar scar on his chest. “This one almost killed me. Missed my aorta by a hair. Thankfully, it was another through and through. Those heal easier.” He turned and lifted his shorts to expose a rather large and messy scar on the back of his left thigh. “Ironically, this one gave me the most problems. The bullet hit my femur and shattered. Broke the bone, of course. Surgery took hours to get all the fragments out. I still have a small piece embedded in the bone.”

Erin walked into the room just then and rolled her eyes. “Oh for goodness sake, put your clothes on.” Then she muttered something under breath about showing off as she returned to the kitchen.

Chris turned back to Strike. “Did you serve?”

“Yeah, I was army police, SIB. I was also invalided out after serving in Afghanistan.” 

To Robin’s surprise, Strike lifted the leg of his trousers, exposing his prosthesis. “Lost my leg in a roadside IED.” He wasn’t sure what made him do it, but something about Chris’s blasé attitude about his own wounds made Strike feel completely at ease. 

Chris grunted and shook his head. “That’s a bitch, man.” It wasn’t said with the pity that he was accustomed to receiving when people found out about his leg, but rather with empathy.

Suddenly Chris gave a short bark of laughter, “Is that why you looked so uncomfortable in the car earlier?”

Strike gave a sheepish chuckle in response, “Yeah, I don’t really like cars. Robin’s about the only person I can stand to be driven by.” He reached out to put an arm around her waist, and she gladly leaned into his shoulder.

“Well fuckin-ay, let’s get you a beer! Sorry ‘bout that, man.” Chris said in an aside to Robin, “Pardon my French.”

He led them to the back patio. It was huge, with elegant stonework, an outdoor fireplace, a table and seating area, and a built in barbecue grill. Overhead was a pergola and two ceiling fans.

Chris reached into a large ice chest and pulled out two cans of beer and held them up towards Strike. “Blonde or Amber?”

“Amber,” Strike winked at Robin as Chris handed him the can. It was silver and orange striped, with an orange triangle containing an upside down animal. The can simply said “Amber”. 

Strike took a drink and looked back at the can appreciatively. “What is this?”

“Dead Armadillo. The brewery’s here in town.” Chris held up his can of the blonde ale, which was called Tulsa Flag.

Strike took another drink and examined the can again. “This is really good. I have to say, I haven’t been all that impressed with American beer yet.”

Erin had just walked outside. She chimed into the conversation, “Oooooo, pub crawl!” She looked at her husband, who nodded enthusiastically. “There are several really good breweries here in town. There’s a couple that are right there together. You can just spend the afternoon walking from one to the other. So, what do you say? Up for a little day-drinking on Saturday?”

Strike, of course, was all in favor of this plan, especially if the beer was as good as the Dead Armadillo. He looked forward to trying the Tulsa Flag next.

Erin dug in the ice chest and pulled out a beer. “Robin?” She asked, offering the can to Robin.

“I’m not much of a beer drinker, I’m afraid.”

Erin put the can back, rummaged around some more and pulled out a different can. “Here, try this one.”

Robin looked at the can, a Michelob Ultra Lime Cactus. She tentatively tried a sip. “Mmm, that is pretty good. It’s fruity.” She offered the can to Strike to let him try a sip. He didn’t care for fruity beer, but tried some anyway just to press his lips to the place Robin’s had been. He pulled a face and handed the can back to her.

Chris busied himself taking the food up from the grill as Erin’s parents arrived. They sat on the patio, enjoying jerk chicken, beans and rice, pineapple, and of course more beer. Erin’s parents were quite enjoyable, asking them about London and their trip, and how they liked Tulsa so far. Erin’s father happened to be the CFO of Vanderbilt Oil, so they would be working with him again during the merger meetings.

The older couple left after vanilla ice cream and blackberry cobbler that Erin’s mother had made. Strike and Robin excused themselves soon after, both very tired after what had felt like an extremely long day. They walked back to the garage apartment hand in hand, though they were sure the Waters probably couldn’t see them.

***

They climbed into bed that evening, Strike wearing boxers and a t-shirt, Robin wearing a faded t-shirt and long bottoms. Strike was glad to see that she was modestly dressed. He wasn’t sure he would be able to sleep at all if she were wearing a camisole and shorts. 

They both scooted as far to the edge as they could. After they each turned out their light, Strike could feel Robin moving awkwardly beneath the blankets. As he realized she was removing her bra from underneath her shirt, he experienced a jolt to his groin. He was suddenly quite glad for the box of tampons. It created an extra barrier of sorts, helping him keep his thoughts in check.

 _Although_ , he remembered, _there wasn’t anything in the trash in the bathroom._ Strike desperately tried to pull his thoughts away from anything having to do with Robin’s crotch. Eventually, he drifted into sleep.

***

He woke suddenly sometime later, soaked in sweat, with Robin shaking him. He realized he was shouting. He had been dreaming of roadside explosions. Now that he was awake, he realized that there were in fact explosions sounding in the distance. Robin was trying to get his attention. He rolled away from her and sat on the edge of the bed.

She knelt behind him and put a hand on his arm. “Cormoran? Are you okay? You were shouting about your leg…”

He shrugged her hand off. “I’m fine,” he said rather gruffly. Robin shrank back looking worried, and he realized that he probably sounded too harsh. “I just need to get some air.” He tried to sound less severe, but he wasn’t sure he accomplished it.

Robin watched anxiously as he quickly attached his prosthesis, pulled on his track suit bottoms, and went downstairs with his e-cig.

Strike was surprised to find Chris similarly dressed, petting Butter. Now that he was outside, he saw that the explosions he heard were fireworks coming from somewhere nearby.

Chris’s demeanor was a sharp contrast to his earlier lightheartedness. He puffed on a cigarette, looking grave. He saw Strike and wordlessly offered him one. Strike gratefully accepted.

“Fireworks woke you too, I guess?” Chris asked.

Strike didn’t really need to respond to that, so he took a long drag on his cigarette. 

“PTSD’s a bitch, ain’t it?” Chris asked, still somber. He continued, “It was a long time before I could handle fireworks at all. It’s better now if I’m outside and I can see them. It’s when it wakes me up…” He trailed off.

The men smoked in silence for a while, Chris occasionally nuzzling Butter. “I finally went to therapy after I woke up one night choking Erin. It helped a lot. That’s actually why I got Butter here. He helps keep me grounded.”

Strike finally spoke, “Yeah, I still get the dreams sometimes, but it hasn’t happened in a while.”

Chris looked up to see Robin anxiously looking out of the window of the apartment. He waved up at her. “And I’m guessing this is the first time it’s happened around Robin.”

Strike gave a humorless laugh and nodded, reaching out to give Butter a pat.

Chris lit another cigarette from the tip of his previous, and clapped Strike on the back. “It’s hard for them too, ya know. They want to help, want to understand, but you hope to God they never do understand. Cut her some slack.”

Chris looked back up at Robin. “Erin doesn’t usually even wake up anymore, she’s used to it. If I were you man, I’d go up there and let her kiss it and make it better.” He gave Strike a sideways grin and nudged him with his elbow. 

Strike finished his cigarette and stubbed it out in the small pot on the fence. “It’s a bit early for fireworks, isn’t it?” He asked.

Chris chuckled, “Nah, fair warning, this goes on for weeks. The rednecks around here love blowin’ shit up. It usually dies out a couple days after the 4th.” Chris nodded towards Robin, “Go make up with your woman.”

Strike thanked him for the smoke, and went back upstairs to Robin. She was seated on the small sofa, looking restless and worried. Strike strode over to her and pulled her up into a hug. “I’m sorry, it’s just… it’s hard for me…” he murmured in her ear.

She squeezed him back. “I know,” she whispered.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is in honor of all the veterans that struggle through this holiday. We love the 4th of July, and we love fireworks, but it truly is very difficult for those suffering from PTSD. May we never forget that freedom isn't free.  
> Also, the story about Baghdad is true. It came from an officer I knew. He had to tell his men they probably wouldn’t be returning home.


	10. BBQ and S'mores

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A little about the case, but remember, that's not the point here. We have more food and fun, and just a wee bit of snogging.

The next morning they were to go the offices of Vanderbilt Oil for the first of the merger meetings. Erin, as it transpired, was the Vice President of Acquisitions for the company. She wasn’t on the board and wouldn’t be in the meetings, but she would accompany them to the offices. Robin wondered vaguely just how old she was. She looked like she was in her early twenties.

They ate a breakfast of fruit and oatmeal that had been stocked in their apartment, while Robin put on her makeup. Strike watched her covertly over his bowl of oatmeal. It felt oddly intimate to be privy to these procedures. Strike got dressed in the bathroom after breakfast, now that his chest hair was finally dry. Robin burst into a fit of laughter when he exited the bathroom wearing trousers and tie, with no shirt, and announced that he was ready.

After reluctantly putting on a shirt, Strike saying that he thought he looked quite dashing without it and Robin silently agreeing, they went downstairs and waited next to Erin’s Audi sedan. She joined them a few minutes later, looking very professional in a business suit. 

“Would you like to drive Robin? We’ll probably be more comfortable in the SUV,” she asked as she approached them.

Strike thought Chris must have filled her in on his aversion to being driven by other people, but he appreciated the way Erin had tastefully navigated the situation. He appreciated it even more once they were on the highway. They seemed to be the only car actually driving the speed limit, and cars frequently changed lanes without signaling. But he was comfortable in Robin’s ever capable hands.

Robin was chatting with Erin about what there was to do in Tulsa, and if the area was known for any special cuisines.

Erin explained, “Not really. There’s the breweries, we’ll check those out this weekend. But as far as food goes, there’s nothing specific to Oklahoma.”

“What about American food in general then? Is there anything we should definitely try?”

Erin laughed, “As crazy as this sounds, you have to have some Mexican food while you’re here. There’s not a lot of things that are uniquely American. We’re really good at stealing other culture’s food and making it our own though. There’s the saying ‘as American as apple pie’, but I don’t think apple pie really _is_ American. The only thing I can think of is barbecue and southern comfort food.”

Strike was intrigued, “What’s southern comfort food?”

“You know, like fried chicken, chicken and waffles, biscuits and gravy, Cajun food, fried okra. That’s about all I can think of at the moment. Oh! And all-you-can-eat buffets.”

Strike looked horrified. “Why the fuck would you put gravy on a biscuit?”

Erin laughed and scooted forward in her seat. “Not a cookie, a southern biscuit. I’ll have to make some this weekend or something. Oh! Or we could just have brunch at Nola’s, it’s a Cajun restaurant. Then you can get the whole shebang. We should have barbecue for lunch today. There’s a place downtown that has the best ribs you’ll ever have. I’ll text Chris, he can meet us down there.”

“Does he work downtown too?” Robin asked.

“No, he’s a teacher. He’s off for the summer.”

Whatever Robin had expected Erin to say, that certainly wasn’t it. She couldn’t think of a more surprising profession for the burly, foul-mouthed, beer drinking ex-marine. She stifled a giggle as she tried to picture the man corralling a roomful of children.

“What did you say about all you can eat? I liked the sound of that,” Strike said.

“Well, the food isn’t usually very good. It’s more about quantity over quality, if you know what I mean, but if you’re really hungry and in the mood for a lot of semi-gross food, it can be good. Actually, there’s a really good one that’s only open for lunch, if you like Indian food. Maybe we can go there next week or something.”

“You had me at ‘quantity’,” Strike laughed.

***

Vanderbilt Oil was in one of the few skyscrapers in downtown Tulsa. As they weaved their way through the streets, Erin the ever chatty tour guide explained that downtown was very easy to navigate if you knew American geography. The streets were all named after cities, and were in alphabetical order according to their position relative to the Mississippi River. Streets west of Main Street were cities west of the Mississippi, while streets east of Main Street were cities east of the Mississippi. Robin wasn’t sure that information would be very helpful, as she hadn’t even been sure on the position of Oklahoma until she looked it up on a map.

As they waited for the lifts in the lobby, Robin straightened Strike’s tie. Her hand lingered on his chest for a moment until the doors to the lift opened, causing his heart to beat erratically.

Erin passed them off to her father, Dave, and continued on to her own office. As they made their way to the conference room, Strike noticed that that there seemed to be a distinct hierarchy in the way the men were dressed. The executives all seemed to be wearing full suits, while the lower level clerks wore mostly wearing khaki trousers and polo shirts. Strike was again thankful for Robin’s suggestions, as he saw that he was similarly dressed to the other assistants and mid-levels, with his navy trousers, blue and white checked shirt and navy tie.

They settled into the conference room in seats along the wall by the window. The large oval table in the middle was reserved for the board members and lawyers. Strike noticed that some of the other assistants had their shirt sleeves rolled up to their elbows. He gladly copied them as it was quite warm next to the window, even with the aggressive air conditioning that Americans seemed to enjoy so much.

As he looked around the room at everyone getting settled, he noticed that there didn’t seem to be a visible indication of rank among the women. All were smartly dressed in trousers or skirts and blouses. Robin fit right in, with her grey pencil skirt and lavender colored blouse.

Robin got out her computer, preparing to take notes. Being the faster typist, it would be her job to transcribe as much of the meeting as possible. Strike took out his notebook to jot down anything she might have missed, but mainly he took notes on the people present. He noticed that their new friends Bailey and Travis were present for Rutherburg Oil. Bailey appeared to be an executive of some kind, since she was seated at the table. Travis, he guessed was an assistant, seated along the wall behind the table. Josh was present for Vanderbilt Oil, also in some kind of assistant capacity. Mike, of course, was seated at the table, as he was the new CEO of Vanderbilt Oil.

After the meeting, Bailey approached them to invite them to lunch. Robin said that they were already planning to go for barbecue with Erin and Chris. 

“Oh, I bet she means Burn Co. I’ll join you, if you don’t mind. Let me see if the others are free.”

***

Bailey agreed to ride with them to the restaurant. The three other men would not be joining them, as they all had other work they needed to attend to. Erin said that Chris was already there and saving their place in line. “You have to get there early, like before they open the doors. Being a weekday, it shouldn’t be too busy, but it is a Thursday.”

Robin inquired as to what was special about Thursday.

Bailey shrugged, “Just the end of the week. People are ready for the weekend.”

They parked around the corner and walked a short distance to the small restaurant. There was a line of people snaking along the pavement outside. The line was moving, but slowly. They joined Chris around the middle of the line. Robin was concerned that the people around them wouldn’t like them cutting, but nobody seemed to mind.

Chris was advising Strike on what to order. “Get the Happy Plate. It’s not on the menu. It’s 40 bucks, but you get a little bit of everything. It’s enough for at least two people. Even fat asses like us.” He nudged Strike with his elbow.

Strike loosened his tie. It was really quite hot outside, and he was starting to sweat. “I wish this line would hurry up, I’m baking my arse off out here.”

Chris laughed. “It’s barely even 90 out. This isn’t even hot yet. You should be here in August. It gets up over 100.”

“What is that in Celsius?” Robin asked.

Strike thought for a moment. “About 37? 38?”

Robin chuckled and rolled her eyes as she said fondly, “You would be able to convert Fahrenheit to Celsius in your head.”

Strike looked at her quizzically, missing the joke. She just smiled and shook her head in a “what am I going to do with you” kind of way.

Thankfully, they were able to make their way inside then, into the welcoming air conditioning. After ordering their food at the counter, they managed to squeeze onto the end of a table. All of the tables were large picnic tables, which all of the patrons shared. There were some other businessmen seated at their table, and they graciously scooted down to make room for the larger group.

Robin went to get drinks, which was a self-serve fountain. She got Coke for Strike and iced tea for herself. She asked Strike if he would like to try her tea, to which he vehemently responded, “Absolutely not. Tea should be hot. Why would I want to drink something that tastes like it’s been sitting around all day?”

“It’s actually quite refreshing,” Robin responded, wagging her cup at him to entice him, but he stood resolute, saying that he’d just take her word for it.

Their food was brought out on a metal tray lined with paper. There was a pile of chopped brisket, a pile of pulled pork, a couple of ribs, a variety of sausage links, smoked bologna, coleslaw, baked beans, and something that Chris explained was called The Fatty. It looked similar to a hamburger patty. It had some kind of smoked sausage link in the middle, surrounded by pork sausage, and wrapped in bacon.

Chris and Erin were also sharing a Happy Plate, of course, and Bailey had gotten a sandwich called The Frankenstein. It was piled with a variety of meats, and looked to be big enough for about three sandwiches. She disassembled it, setting most of the meat aside, and reassembled a much smaller sandwich.

All of the meats were fantastic. There were several different kinds of BBQ sauce on the table. Robin and Strike tried them all. Robin preferred the original, but Strike like the hot and spicy best. The only problem with BBQ was that there didn’t seem to be a nice way to eat it without getting sauce all over you. Strike copied the other business men at their table and threw his tie over one shoulder.

Robin was licking sauce off of her fingers, kick starting Strike’s libido. She had a spot of sauce on the side of her cheek, well away from her mouth. He picked up his napkin and wiped it off for her as she smiled at him, continuing to lick her fingers.

Robin and Strike were both feeling pleasantly full. He had eaten as much as he could, but they still had quite a bit of meat left. Even Chris had left some meat behind. Bailey got up from the table to refill her drink and came back with squares of aluminum foil and cardboard take out boxes for everyone. She started wrapping up her extra meat, saying that she was going to take it to Travis. Robin followed suit and packaged up the rest of their meat as well. Chris said he would take it home for them, but couldn’t promise it would still be there when they got back.

***

Strike and Robin spent the afternoon comparing notes and updating their files. They sent Gloria a transcript of the morning’s meeting. 

Friday followed in much the same fashion, though they opted for a lighter a lunch in the café on one of the lower floors of the office building. Near the end of the day, Mike came round to invite them to a cook out at his house that evening. They were glad of the invitation, as they had yet to spend much time with Aster.

***

Mike and Aster lived in an area that Erin explained was simply known as “mid-town”. The neighborhood was an eclectic mix of 1920’s style art deco homes, classical manor style houses, and more modern looking homes. All of the houses were huge mansions.

“Do you know Frank Lloyd Wright? The architect? He designed a house around here. We can drive by it later if you want,” Erin the tour guide explained.

Mike and Aster’s home was one of the more modern looking homes. It looked as if it had been recently renovated. They were shown into the back yard, where there was an enormous patio similar to Erin and Chris’s. It was another rather hot evening, and Strike was glad for the ceiling fans and misters on the pergola. 

Robin’s cotton shirt was sticking to her slightly in the heat. He could see a small patch of wetness on the small of her back. He was trying not to notice the way the shirt clung to her curves, but he couldn’t help himself. Strike’s shirt was also sticking to him a bit. He pulled it away from his chest and fanned it a bit, trying to create a breeze underneath.

“Dude, don’t you ever wear shorts?” Chris asked. He was wearing khaki cargo shorts, a t-shirt, and a backwards baseball cap. He indeed looked a lot more than comfortable than Strike felt in his jeans and polo shirt.

“Er, no. I don’t have any shorts,” he responded.

“Why, ‘cause of your leg?” Chris handed him a beer from the ice chest. “Man, fuck that. You’re a goddamn war hero. Embrace it.”

Strike laughed as Chris continued, “I’d go buy some shorts if I were you. Unless you enjoy swamp ass, that is.”

Strike and Robin both laughed and said, “What?” in unison.

Chris paused in the process of bringing his beer to his lips and looked at them in confusion, apparently unaware that he had said anything odd.

“You know….swamp ass.” He struggled to explain, “When it’s so hot that your pants create a sauna for your ass? And sweat drips down your crack and everything gets…sticky? Swamp ass!”

Strike let out a loud bark of laughter as Robin turned to him, grinning. “So how’s your arse?”

Returning her grin, he said simply, “Swampy.”

The three roared with laughter and Robin excused herself to go find more civilized conversation with the women. Strike knew that she was actually focusing on the job they were supposed to be doing, but he was having trouble summoning interest. He sighed, deciding to follow her lead, and went to find Mike.

***

Robin decided that despite Aster’s slight snobbishness, she really was quite a lovely person. She owned her own investment firm, and she seemed very intelligent and kind. Robin hadn’t been able to work anything about prenuptial agreements into the conversation yet. She was hoping to get another opportunity on Sunday, as Aster had invited everyone to the lake.

The sun was starting to go down and it was getting a little cooler. Erin and Robin extricated themselves from the group of women to go find their men, who of course were talking by the ice chest of beer. 

Erin walked up to Chris and put her arm around him, pulling him in for a kiss. Robin, who felt some kind of affectionate display was appropriate here, copied her. She slid one arm around Strike’s waist and rested her other hand on his stomach. He instinctively put an arm around her shoulders, lightly rubbing her upper arm. Robin inclined her head toward him, and he easily leaned down and kissed her, eyes twinkling. It was a quick kiss, but his lips lingered for just a moment. They gazed sappily into each other’s eyes, hearts hammering, forgetting their surroundings. Strike jumped slightly when Chris called to one of his friends.

“Yo, Cooper!”

Cooper came to join their little group. He had skin the color of melted caramel and shockingly blue eyes. The combination was quite striking and Robin found herself staring at the man’s youthful features. Then she noticed a large burn scar on his neck, disappearing beneath his shirt. The scar continued all the way down his right arm. 

Chris introduced him. “This is Cooper. He served in Afghanistan with me.”

Robin responded with a surprised, “Really?” before she could stop herself. Cooper was much smaller than Chris. He was about Robin’s height and had a very slim build, and looked nothing like what she imagined another marine would look like.

Chris laughed, “Yeah, don’t let the pretty face fool you. He is one,” he looked at Robin and held up a hand in apology, “sorry, he is one badass motherfucker. Saved my life.”

“Aw come on, man, you’re not going to tell that story again are you?” Cooper moaned.

Chris continued, ignoring his friend, who walked away muttering. “Coop was a sniper. Doesn’t like to talk about it. Our unit was getting our asses handed to us, we were way outnumbered. The fuckers seemed to be everywhere, men were dropping left and right. Coop took out as many as he could before they launched an RPG at him. That’s when I got shot. I was trying to crawl back to safety when Cooper comes out of nowhere and drags me back to cover. He was half on fire at the time, mind you.” Chris indicated his right arm. Robin looked horrified. Chris nodded at her and said, “Like I said, motherfuckin’ badass. I passed out after that, woke up in a helicopter, no idea how I got there.”

As the sun was sinking below the horizon, Mike started a fire in the fire pit to make s’mores. All of the couples gathered around, looking very cozy as darkness settled in. Despite the easiness with which he had kissed Robin earlier, Strike was starting to the feel the pressure of romance. Cooper had arms around his girlfriend, resting his chin on her shoulder. Chris had pulled Erin into his lap. Aster was seated on the arm of Mike’s chair, his hand on her thigh, occasionally kissing.

Robin sensed his hesitation and took the lead. She grabbed his hand and led him to a cushioned bench. He stretched his arm along the back of the bench, crossing his left foot over his right knee. Robin nestled into his side, resting her head on his shoulder and her hand on the inside of his knee. His breath hitched as she traced light circles with her fingertips. 

He leaned in to whisper in her ear, “Are you sure you’re okay with this?”

She whispered back, “I am. Are you? You look tense.”

“I just don’t want to make you feel uncomfortable.” His breath tickled her ear, sending shivers down her spine.

“It looks like you’re more uncomfortable than I am. You need to relax.” She kissed the side of his mouth.

He nodded infinitesimally and finally did allow himself to relax. Knowing it probably wasn’t wise, he again lowered the walls around his feelings for Robin. He captured her mouth in a gentle kiss, moving his lips lightly over hers. He kept it closed-mouthed and short, aware that ravaging her mouth with his tongue would be inappropriate under the circumstances. He pulled back and kissed the tip of her nose then nuzzled into her neck.

“If you two are quite done, I’ve brought you s’mores,” Bailey said playfully, handing them each a s’more and grinning as both Robin and Strike blushed.


	11. Pub Crawl

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Beer, beer, and more beer!  
> Strike describes his fake proposal.

Strike and Robin returned to their garage apartment quiet, contemplative, and feeling ridiculously happy. Without thinking, Robin kissed him on the cheek after she turned out her light and said goodnight. They both nestled comfortably into bed, forgetting to sleep on the very edge.

The next morning, Chris talked Strike into getting some shorts. He needed to buy a new pair of swimming trunks for Sunday anyway, as the last pair would expose a little too much of his arse. They went to Walmart, as Strike had insisted on nothing fancy. 

“Christ, is that all one store?” Strike exclaimed as they pulled up to the Walmart, which looked more like a large warehouse than a store. It looked to be at least three separate stores, with a large entrance labeled “Grocery”, another labeled “Pharmacy”, and the third labeled “Garden Center”.

The clothing section was in the middle of the store. Erin and Robin went to peruse the women’s section while Strike browsed the men’s. Chris wandered towards the grocery isles to pick up provisions for the lake trip on Sunday.

Robin picked out a couple of t-shirts. One was red, with a picture of a white covered wagon above the word “Oklahoma”. The other was white, with a small American flag and three exploding fireworks behind it in red, white, and blue. Below the flag was the word “Freedom”, also colored in red, white, and blue.

Erin looked at the red Oklahoma shirt and said, “No. Absolutely not. Put that back.”

Robin looked from Erin to the shirt, wondering what was wrong with it. 

“Well, you’re foreign, so I guess I can forgive you for that. But here, at least get one of these too.” She rummaged on a rack next to her and handed Robin a black t-shirt with the white outline of a large cowboy’s face wearing a large orange cowboy hat.

Robin took the proffered shirt, completely flummoxed. 

“Those are college shirts,” Erin explained and pointed to the red shirt, “and that is the wrong one. We bleed orange around here.” She pointed to the black t-shirt.

As the women made their way over to the men’s section, Robin stopped to look at the 4th of July shirts for men, intending to pick one out of her partner. She smiled a wicked smile as she selected the perfect one and set off to find Strike. 

“I got you something,” Robin said, coming up behind him.

She held the shirt up in front of her. The entire shirt was colored like a realistic American flag waving in the wind, with a large picture of a bald eagle on the front, its beak open as if screeching.

Strike’s mouth opened in horror and his eyebrows shot up to his hairline. “That is the most violently American thing I’ve ever seen. No way am I wearing that.” He noticed her wicked grin and realized that she was teasing him.

Chris walked up to them, saw the shirt, and said, “Fuck, yeah! ‘Merica!”

They all laughed as Erin refused to let him buy it.

***

They spent the afternoon on a pub crawl with Mike and Aster and Travis and Bailey. Robin was glad that Josh and Heather would not be joining them. She wore her new red Oklahoma t-shirt, much to the disapproval of both Erin and Chris. Robin was somewhat surprised that Strike wore his new pair of khaki cargo shorts, exposing his prosthesis. He looked a little uncertain, but explained that he wanted to avoid “swamp ass”, making her laugh.

They took an Uber to the breweries so they didn’t have to arrange a designated driver. Robin was squished into the back seat between Erin and Strike. Her bare leg was firmly pressed against his. Strike tapped his foot, bouncing his leg up and down against Robin’s. He loved the feel of her smooth skin against his. Even though she had placed her hand on his leg last night, he wondered if it would be too forward to rest his hand on her knee. His leg bounced a little faster when she reached over and lightly placed her hand on his thigh. Her fingers were starting to draw little circles again, which was threatening to produce an embarrassing situation for him. He stilled her hand by interlacing his fingers with hers. This did little to slow his blood from flowing southward.

Thankfully they were soon dropped off by a grass lot next to a small collection of fairly nondescript buildings in a somewhat shabby looking area. Crossing the street, they entered a small courtyard of sorts, surrounded by three nicer, more accommodating buildings. There were many picnic tables in the middle. They walked around the corner to Marshall Brewery first, where they met up with the rest of the group. 

As they were passing the picnic tables, a man shouted “Boomer!” at them. Strike and Robin looked around, confused, but the man had already turned his attention back to his party. As they entered Marshall, a small group was leaving. Each of them looked at Robin and also said “Boomer”, though more sedately than the first man had.

“Why do people keep saying that to me?” Robin asked.

Just then, Bailey approached, saying, “Nope, get that out of here.” She was pointing to Robin’s shirt.

Erin explained, “It’s an OU thing. Oklahoma University. Their cheer is ‘Boomer Sooner’. When they see another OU fan, they say ‘Boomer’ and you’re supposed to respond ‘Sooner’. It’s really annoying.”

They ordered beers at the counter and went out back to the beer garden. When Aster saw Robin’s shirt, she also shouted “Boomer!”

“Aster went to OU. The rest of us went to OSU. Oklahoma State University. They’re bitter rivals,” Erin said.

“But we love her anyway,” Mike said as Aster grinned up at him and he gave her a quick kiss.

As they settled in with their pints and a card game, Strike began to relax. He had been apprehensive about walking in public with his false leg showing, but nobody was paying it the slightest bit of attention. He wondered if that was just the American laissez-faire mentality or if he had always been too uptight about it. No, he realized, he definitely received more looks back home.

After a couple of pints at Marshall, they moved on to the next brewery, American Solera. It looked like a greenhouse. Strike thought it was far too Matthew-like for a brewery. It was far too modern and hipster-ish. He wasn’t surprised when Mike said this brewery was his favorite of the three. 

Strike struggled to choose a beer from the menu, as they all had strange descriptions that didn’t seem to actually explain what they were. The bartender offered to give him a sample of anything. After trying a few shot glasses of different beers, he finally settled on a stout that was actually quite good. Bailey recommended a lighter, fruity beer for Robin.

They moved on to the third brewery after only one pint at American Solera. Mike was overruled, as everyone else liked the third brewery, Cabin Boys, best. Strike quite agreed, it was the best of the three. He tried a couple of different beers from their limited menu. Each one was excellent and served at the perfect temperature, instead of being overly cold the way so many American beers are. They sat in the courtyard in the shade. Chris and Strike smoked, receiving dirty looks from a couple at the next table. Bailey and Erin taught Robin the OSU cheer by waving their thumb and forefinger in the air in the shape of a gun, saying “pistols firing!”

After five pints, Strike was feeling a bit tipsy. He gazed at Robin fondly over his glass. She looked beautiful, with her cheeks slightly flushed from alcohol, giggling and waving her hand pistol in the air. She saw him looking at her and returned his gaze, lightly biting her bottom lip and grinning up at him from beneath her eyelashes.

“Oh geez,” Bailey rolled her eyes. “Don’t you two ever stop making googly eyes at each other? You’re just as bad as these two.” She pointed at Mike and Aster, who had their heads together, whispering and laughing. 

Erin said, “I think it’s sweet. Don’t you remember what it was like to be engaged and all lovey-dovey? I’m sure you and Travis were just as bad.” She turned to Strike and Robin. “I’m guessing you haven’t been engaged long?”

“Two weeks,” Robin invented.

“How did he propose?” Bailey asked.

Robin nodded at her partner, “You go.” She gave him a mischievous grin, certain that she would catch him off-guard. 

Little did she know, Strike had put some thought into how he would have fake-proposed to Robin.

“I sent her on a scavenger hunt. I left a note on the stairs outside of our office, where we first met. It said to go to where our friendship grew. There was another note on her desk that said to find my favorite scent. I left the next clue on her perfume bottle that she keeps in her desk. It directed her to ‘our place’, which is the local pub. On our usual table was the next clue, telling her to go to the place of our first kiss, which happened to be outside of a hospital. Not very romantic, I know, it just sort of happened. I left the next clue on the fence, which told her to go put on my favorite dress. It’s a dress I had given her as a gift a while back, but she looks beautiful in it.” He squeezed Robin’s hand before continuing. 

“The final clue was on the hanger, telling her to go to the place where I first told her I loved her. That was my friends’ house in the garden. My friends helped me string twinkling lights around the garden. I was waiting for her there with a bouquet of Yorkshire roses, wearing my best suit. When she came into the garden, I got down on one knee, awkwardly, and asked her to marry me.”

He looked at Robin. She was smiling, her eyes watery and lips trembling slightly. She squeezed his hand and pulled him towards her, leaning in for a kiss. She opened her mouth for him, willing him to deepen the kiss, but he didn’t. The tip of her tongue ghosted over his lips. He pulled back, breaking the kiss, to look questioningly into her eyes. 

Chris broke the spell, laughing and saying, “Damn, that’s way better than what I did.”

***

When they got back to the apartment, Robin sat on the loveseat and curled her feet beneath her, trying to give him her best “come hither” look. “That was quite the proposal story you came up with.”

Strike cleared his throat, “Yeah, like you said. Best to stick to as much truth as possible.”

By Robin’s count, there were only three truths in his proposal story; four, if Ilsa was right about how he loved her green dress. It was the creativeness and sentimentality of the rest of the story that she was trying to wrap her head around. Yorkshire roses? _Maybe, just maybe…?_

That night more fireworks exploded in the distance. Strike fidgeted restlessly, dreaming of roadside bombs. Robin rolled towards him in her sleep and draped her arm across his chest, nuzzling into his shoulder. He stilled, and slipped easily into a peaceful slumber.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> College sports are BIG in the U.S. The rivalry between OU and OSU is so intense that many people consider it a hard pass on dating anyone from the other school. It's right up there with political views.  
> Also, I have seen that exact "violently American" t-shirt. Several times.


	12. The Lake

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The gang spend the day at the lake, and Strike realizes that he's in way over his head.

As Robin gradually came to the next morning, she realized that she and Strike were in the middle of the bed, spooning. She had no idea how they ended up that way, but his arm was wrapped around her and he was firmly pressed against her. By the sounds of his breathing, he was still asleep. As her brain became more aware, she realized that there was something else poking firmly against her backside. She tried to scoot away from him, but his arm tightened around her and pulled her back against him. 

She lay as still as she could, trying to figure out a way out of this situation without embarrassing either one of them, or at least not more than she already was. His breathing began to change, indicating that he was waking up. She had the grace to feign sleep, saving him his dignity. 

Strike opened his eyes blearily and realized his face was nuzzled in Robin’s hair, and he was pressed against her quite intimately. He was horrified as he realized that another part of him was very much awake already. He moved back a fraction, hoping she was still asleep. She didn’t move, so he gently extricated himself from the bed and hobbled to the bathroom, casting furtive glances her way. She still appeared to be sleeping. He hoped that a pee would help lessen the pressure in his groin, but it did not. It seemed a cold shower would be in order.

***

They met the rest of the gang at Keystone Lake around mid-morning. Chris had driven them in his large truck, as their camp chairs and ice chest wouldn’t fit in the SUV. He offered to let Robin drive, but she wasn’t sure she could handle the large double cab pickup. Chris mercifully kept to the speed limit, driving very carefully for Strike’s sake.

Mike and Aster owned a speed boat and Bailey and Travis had a large catamaran. Cooper and his girlfriend and Josh and Heather also joined them. They took both boats out on the lake, alternating between the relaxing shade of the catamaran and thrilling rides in the speed boat. Some of the group went skiing or tubing in Mike’s boat. 

With both Chris and Cooper confidently walking around without shirts, displaying their scars, Strike felt comfortable having his leg exposed. He even took the prosthesis off and allowed Mike to talk him into a ride in the inner tube. It was large enough for two people, so Robin joined him. She looked so incredible his mouth actually watered. Her swimsuit was poison green. It was a two piece, with a halter top and boyshort bottoms. She was modestly covered once again, but she still looked too sexy to be allowed. Strike knew he was in trouble. He couldn’t look away from her, and every time she smiled at him it sent a jolt straight to his groin. 

Mike kept pushing the speed faster and faster, determined to flip them off the tube. Strike noticed how Robin’s breasts bounced and jiggled every time they hit a wave. _Stop it, you’re losing control_ , he told himself. 

Finally Mike succeeded in flipping them, and Strike and Robin bobbed to the surface, gasping and laughing. He had to wrap a towel around himself after climbing back on the boat to hide the growing problem that the sight of a dripping Robin had caused.

As the day wore on and the ice chests slowly emptied of beer, the other men were having just as much trouble keeping their hands off their own women. They were back on the catamaran, drifting listlessly. Someone had turned the radio on and Cooper and his girlfriend were dancing, rather suggestively, at the front of the boat. Josh and Heather had disappeared some time ago. Mike and Aster were on the speed boat for some “private time”. Bailey and Travis were sitting across from Strike and Robin, but there was definitely no conversation to be had. Bailey’s legs were across his lap and he was stroking his hands along the side of her thighs, totally lost in each other, kissing and giggling. Chris and Erin were currently in the water, leaning against the side of the boat and snogging quite heavily. They heard the occasional throaty giggle.

Robin swung her legs over Strike’s lap, in a similar position to Bailey. She whispered in his ear, “I don’t suppose we can just sit here staring at everyone.”

“No, and I don’t see how we can get away, either. Unless you want to get in the water with those two.” He inclined his head towards Chris and Erin. 

“So I guess we just pretend until everyone comes up for air?” Robin asked.

Strike was starting to feel extremely uncomfortable. He was rather enjoying a scantily clad Robin draped over him. He was enjoying it far too much. They were dancing dangerously close to inappropriate territory, and he wasn’t sure how much longer his waning control would last.

“This is getting out of hand,” he whispered.

Robin breathed back, “We don’t have to actually do anything. Nobody’s paying attention to us anyway. I’m sure some of them will come round soon.”

Her breath was tickling his ear, making him hyper aware of her mouth so close to his neck. He had nowhere to put his hands. He debated the safest place, and settled for one hand on her shin and the other on the bench behind her. The hand on the bench wasn’t touching her, but it was tantalizingly close to her arse. 

She continued to pretend she was kissing his neck while he surreptitiously watched the other couples, waiting for an opening for conversation. Her nose and lips were grazing his skin. She had one arm around his shoulders while her other hand splayed across his chest. She started twirling her finger in his chest hair. 

Robin wasn’t sure why she was doing this. She could tell he was uncomfortable, that she was pushing his boundaries a little. But there was something in the way he had been looking at her; something in his kisses, innocent as they were. His proposal story… She knew he was good at his job, but was he that good of an actor?

“Fuck. Oh, fuck. Fuck, fuck, fuck. I’m sorry,” he groaned in her ear, sounding pained and mortified.

Robin soon felt the reason for his embarrassment pressing against her leg. He was whispering “I’m sorry” over and over again.

She shushed him, “Shh, you’re going to cause a scene. Is there anything I can do to help?” She flushed a little at the double meaning of her words.

His hand came to cover hers, stopping her from twirling his chest hair. “Stop that, for one thing.”

She pulled a face and muttered, “Sorry.”

She made to swing her legs off of him, but his other arm came around her waist. “No, don’t move. Just give me a minute. Oh god, try to not squirm.” She had been trying to scoot her arse away from him slightly. 

He rested his forehead against her neck, breathing deeply, willing his body to relax.

Chris and Erin climbed back on board, apparently finished with whatever they were doing. He picked up a towel and swatted Cooper with it, saying, “Get a room!”

Strike took the opportunity to disengage his head from Robin’s neck. She kept her legs draped over his lap, preserving his modesty, until she could feel that it was safe to move again. Strike scooted over slightly, putting a smidgen of space between them. He continued to withdraw the rest of the afternoon.

***

In the truck on the way back from the lake, Strike stared quietly out the window. Robin reached over to grasp his hand. He didn’t pull away, but he also didn’t return her pressure. As soon as they were out of sight of Chris and Erin, he dropped her hand.

They were barely inside the door of the apartment when he said, “I am so fucking sorry, Robin. There’s no excuse.”

“Cormoran, it’s okay, really. I understand. It’s not like it was on purpose.”

“It was inappropriate.” He sounded angry. With her, or with himself? She went to sit on the loveseat. He stayed on the other side of the apartment.

“You had a half-naked woman draped over you, it’s understandable.” She felt she needed to rectify the situation in some way. She decided to opt for the lighthearted friend approach, and smiled at him. “You haven’t seen anyone in a while have you? Has it been a while for you? I know it’s been a while for me…”

“What are you doing?” He definitely sounded angry now. By the look on his face, it appeared that anger was indeed directed at herself.

“We’re friends, aren’t we? Can’t we talk about it?” She patted the sofa next to her.

“No.” He glared at her.

“Why not? Don’t you talk to Ilsa about this kind of stuff?” Her own temper was starting to rise. She didn’t want him to close the shutters on her like he always did.

“That’s different.”

Her face turned defiant. “How is that different? You’re friends, we’re friends.” 

He opened his mouth to speak and closed it again. Strike thought Robin seemed to be challenging him, daring him in some way. _Not now, not like this._

“I’m your employer, it’s inappropriate.” He grabbed a pillow and a blanket from the bed. “I’ll sleep on the sofa. I said that you can trust me, and I swear to you that you can. It won’t happen again.” His tone told her the discussion was over.


	13. Tornadoes Indeed

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Strike and Robin get a little taste of Oklahoma weather.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I never intended the story to go on this long, but I just keep getting more ideas. I was inspired for this chapter by some crazy weather we had recently.

Strike remained distant for the next couple of days. He would touch her as little as was necessary in the presence of other people, then immediately withdraw when they were alone again. He would talk to her about work only, refusing to engage in any sort of personal conversation. He continued to sleep on the small sofa.

The last meeting for the merger took place on Wednesday. Thursday was the 4th, and they still needed another day to finalize their reports for Gloria Vanderbilt, so they would fly out on Saturday. Robin felt they had enough information on Aster to assert that her intentions were true. She was successful in her own right, so she obviously wasn’t in it for the money. Plus, she and Mike truly seemed to love each other.

They were having dinner with Chris and Erin that night, as a pre-farewell party. It was a warm evening, and they sat on the patio under the ceiling fan. The sky began to darken, but it was too early for the sun to be setting. There was a large storm moving in. The clouds were quite low and dark and ominous.

Chris looked at the sky and, sounding paradoxically cheerful, said, “Those clouds are looking a little sketchy.”

The clouds were moving very fast. They were so dark in some places, they looked almost black. The sun coming in from behind them turned the entire sky an odd greenish color. Robin had never seen the sky that color before.

“See those little fingers there?” Chris was pointing at a wispy lowering of clouds. “See how those are moving upwards, and those are moving down? That’s not good.” His tone was still oddly light.

“What does that mean?” Robin asked.

“Those are tornado conditions,” he explained.

“Do you know meteorology?” 

“Everyone in Oklahoma does,” he said, shrugging.

Erin stood up and said, “I’ll go check the weather.”

She came back a few minutes later. “Tornado watch. There’s a hook echo forming over there.” She pointed into the distance.

Robin was certain that “tornado watch” probably didn’t mean to stand outside and watch the skies for tornadoes, but that seemed to be how Erin and Chris had interpreted it. She didn’t know what a hook echo was, but she was certain that it wasn’t a good thing.

“It’s oddly still,” Strike observed. While the clouds moved and swirled above them, the trees were completely still. Not a single leaf flapped or twitched. He noticed there were no animal noises either.

“That’s called ‘the calm before the storm’.” Chris chuckled, though Robin didn’t find it remotely funny.

Strike looked at Robin’s face and could see the fear hidden beneath the surface. “Shouldn’t we be taking cover or something?” He asked

“Not until the sirens go off, but I should probably get the cars in the garage in case it starts hailing.”

The skies suddenly opened up and started pouring rain. It was as if the flood gates had been released. Chris ran to the cars to start pulling them inside while the others sought the shelter of the house. They gathered around the TV, watching the weather report. The tornado watch had been upgraded to a tornado warning.

“Does that mean there is a tornado somewhere?” Robin’s voice sounded a little too high pitched. She was trying to appear calm. Only Strike noticed that there was real fear underneath. He was feeling quite nervous himself. His resolve to keep her at a distance dissolved, and he put an arm around her, drawing her close.

“Not yet, just that there could be one at any moment. See that?” Erin pointed to a spot on the screen. “That looks like rotation.” Just as she said it, the meteorologist on TV confirmed that it was indeed rotation. To Strike and Robin, the spot looked indistinguishable from the all of the other colors on the map. 

They heard a loud tapping on the windows. It started slowly at first, then quickly picked up in intensity. 

“That sounds like hail,” Erin said as she went to the window to check on Chris. He was running towards the house, arms covering his head, trying to protect himself from the hail.

“Son of a bitch, that stings!” He moaned as he came in, dripping all over the floor.

Just then there was a loud crack of thunder, a blinding flash of lightening, and the house went dark.

“Fuck, there goes the electricity,” Chris said unnecessarily. 

Erin busied herself lighting some candles while Chris pulled up the live news feed on his phone. Robin was clinging tightly to Strike. Erin and Chris still seemed more entertained than concerned. 

“Odd time of year for this kind of weather,” Erin said conversationally. “Tornado season is usually only in the spring and fall, but it is Oklahoma.” She shrugged, as if to say, “What are you going to do.”

“What do we do if there is a tornado?” Strike asked.

“Depends on how big it is. If it’s an F1, you go outside and watch it. If it’s an F5, you bend over and kiss your ass goodbye.” Chris laughed at his own joke. 

Erin swatted his knee and said, “You’re gonna scare the newbies.”

A loud siren sounded from somewhere close by. “There’s one on the ground,” Chris was saying, watching the feed on his phone. “Ooo, it’s only about a mile from here. I guess that’s our cue.” He looked up brightly at his guests, whose eyes were wide in horror.

“Come on, we’ll shelter in the bathroom.” Erin led them to the small bathroom downstairs, closing all the doors as she went. 

The four of them crammed into the small bathroom. Erin sat on the countertop while Chris leaned against the sink. Strike put the lid down on the toilet and sat, pulling Robin onto his lap. He held her tightly, and pressed his lips to the back of her head. He stayed there, with his mouth against her head, occasionally puckering his lips to kiss her scalp. 

Chris tried to watch the news feed on his phone, but it kept lagging behind, leaving them metaphorically in the dark about where the tornado was. After only about ten minutes, they saw that the tornado had dissipated and the dangerous part of the storm was now far away. 

***

Back in their apartment, Robin was shaking her head, half laughing, half crying. “I know it’s probably stupid, but I was really scared.”

Strike heaved a shaking sigh of relief and pulled her into a hug. “I was too,” he chuckled.

She looked up at him, eyes shining with tears. More than just fear and relief showed on her face. “Stay with me?”

“Of course,” he murmured as he pulled her in tighter. 

She clung to him for several minutes before pulling him towards the bed. She laid in the middle and reached for him. He sat and took off his prosthesis before climbing in behind her, fully clothed. He pulled a blanket up over them and wrapped his arms around her. She nestled back against him as he burrowed his nose into her hair, breathing her in. 

Their silence eventually gave way to sleep, and he woke the next morning, still holding her tightly.


	14. Happy 4th!

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Happy 4th of July!

Strike woke once again spooning Robin. His body behaved this morning, thankfully. Robin was still gently snoring, so he allowed himself to breathe in the scent of her hair and her skin for a few more moments before placing a gentle kiss behind her ear and removing himself to the bathroom. 

Something had changed between them last night. As he lay holding her, they were both comforted by each other’s closeness. It wasn’t sexual, but it also wasn’t friendship. It was something else, something more, something that felt like…home. 

He was looking forward to returning home, but it felt bittersweet. He sat on the small sofa with a mug of tea and watched Robin as she slept. He had gotten used to having her in his space. It would be strange to return to his own bed without her. He had been miserable sleeping on the sofa this week, not just because it was uncomfortable. He had missed her nearness, her warmth, and her scent that seemed to cling to her pillow.

They had become more comfortable with each other, settling into a routine. He enjoyed the simple domesticity of it. He had become more comfortable walking around in his boxers and t-shirt, and Robin had also become more relaxed. He had almost fallen out of his chair when she came out the bathroom one morning wearing her pajamas, hair in a towel, and breasts clearly unsupported. He had gone into the bathroom after that so he wouldn’t be caught staring. She had left her bra in the bathroom, and he had to stop himself from reaching out and touching it. 

He hadn’t meant to, but he couldn’t stop himself from keeping an eye on the bathroom trash. Still no tampon wrappers. He berated himself for letting his mind wander to places it shouldn’t, especially after his daydreams had led his body to betray him over the weekend.

Normally he would be craving space and solitude by now. But he found himself only craving more of Robin. He decided that when they got back to London, he was going to tell her how he felt, and let the chips fall where they may. He was starting to suspect that she might have feelings for him too. She was a good actress, but he was fairly certain that some of it had been legitimate. 

There was the kiss when they were at Cabin Boys, for one. She had brushed her tongue over his lips. That certainly hadn’t been part of the act, because no one would have seen it. That was only for him. And then Sunday evening, he thought she had been daring him to tell her how he felt about her. And she had tried to talk to him about sex. Yes, he was pretty sure she wasn’t just acting. Still, he didn’t want to tell her until they were home, where the role they were both playing wouldn’t interfere with their feelings.

Robin was still asleep, but surely she would be waking up soon. Deciding it might not be a good idea to be caught watching her sleep, he got out Robin’s laptop and started updating their files in his slow, two finger typing method.

***

They joined Erin and Chris for an early lunch after they too had enjoyed a lie in. They drove to the other side of town to a Mexican restaurant called El Rio Verde. It was clearly in the poor part of town. Many of the houses were boarded up and vacant. The restaurant itself was a tiny little establishment and very shabby looking, with bars on the windows. Robin wondered why they had insisted on this particular restaurant, when there were many other Mexican places much closer and nicer.

She was surprised to see that most of the cars in the small gravel car park looked like they didn’t belong in this part of town. In fact, the Cadillac fit right in with all of the other new and expensive looking vehicles.

“This is the best Mexican in town,” Erin was saying. “On the weekend they do an amazing pozole. They also have menudo, but I’m not brave enough to try it. I don’t do tripe.”

A waitress brought out chips and salsa for the table. The salsa was a different style than Robin had seen before. It was thin and a brownish red color, and had no chunks of tomatoes or onions. But it was delicious, and the chips tasted homemade.

Erin was still talking about the food. “They’re known for the ‘wet burrito’, but I recommend the tacos al pastor. Trust me, you won’t be disappointed. Their fish tacos are also really good, but it’s catfish, and I don’t really care for catfish.”

Robin took Erin’s suggestion and ordered three tacos al pastor. Strike copied Chris and ordered two fish tacos, two tacos al pastor, and two carne asada tacos. Erin was right, however, the al pastor were the best of the three.

Strike had discovered that Route 66 ran through Tulsa, so after lunch, they drove a more interesting stretch of the road that was near downtown. There were many diners with old 1950’s style signs. They stopped at a small tourist shop that was an old converted petrol station. Strike bought a coffee mug and a magnet, his only souvenirs from the trip, and then decided to get Nick a magnet as well.

They were going to a baseball game that afternoon, the Tulsa Drillers, so they decided to kill some time in a bar by the stadium. The bar had an entire wall covered in board games. Strike was happy to see that they had his favorite Cabin Boys beer, Prost King, on draft. They played games and drank, Strike also trying the Prairie Farmhouse Ale, which Chris explained was also brewed in Tulsa.

They made their way to the small baseball stadium. It wasn’t nearly as large as Fenway, being that it was a small minor league team, but Robin actually like it better. It reminded her of home. Strike and Chris got beers for everyone at the concessions. Unfortunately, all they had were Bud Light and Coors Light. Neither were very good, but Strike could see the appeal of such a light beer on a hot day. He was amazed by the design of the taps, which filled the beer from the bottom of the cups. Chris explained that it wastes less beer since there’s no overflow from foam.

Robin was looking delectable again today, in her 4th of July t-shirt, denim shorts, and Boston Red Sox hat. She was the type of woman who could look sexy without even trying. Strike was having a hard time keeping his eyes (and hands and lips) off of her. _Soon_.

The crowd sang “Take Me Out To The Ballgame” and “Sweet Caroline”, Robin once again joining in. The stadium was a bit more spirited, however, as they sang the title song from the musical _Oklahoma_. Robin wasn’t as familiar with this one, but tried to follow along as the words scrolled across the scoreboard. Erin and Chris, as well as many other people, shouted “state!” at the end of the song, which Erin explained was an OSU thing.

After the game and the Drillers had won, Robin drove them home, as she was the only one that hadn’t had any beer during the game. Travis and Bailey came over for a cookout before going to the fireworks show. Travis brought some fireworks that they shot off in Chris and Erin’s driveway. It wasn’t dark yet, but they could hear the booms and crackles of fireworks from houses all around them. 

After dinner, they all piled into Chris’s truck. It was large, but still not quite roomy enough for all of them. Robin practically had to sit on Strike’s lap, which he was just fine with. Chris mercifully drove very carefully again. They parked in a makeshift car park, and Strike understood why they all needed to take Chris’s truck instead of driving separately. The four wheel drive would come in handy trying to leave, as the grass lot was quite muddy from the rain the previous evening.

Strike’s false foot slipped in the mud and he caught himself on the side of the truck. His knee had twisted painfully. Robin wrapped her arm around his waist and pulled his arm over her shoulders. He understood that she was silently offering to be his crutch, as she had a couple of times before. He appreciated the gesture, but hated that it was necessary. 

Once they reached the sidewalk, he no longer needed her support, but didn’t remove his arm. He quite liked having it around her. Robin had started to drop her arm from around his waist. She realized that she had pushed him too far on Sunday. After their row, she was trying to respect his boundaries. Despite the closeness they had shared last night, she was still afraid making him uncomfortable. So when she tried to pull away from him, she was surprised that he tightened his arm around her shoulders, pulling her back in. 

Of course that could have been because of his knee, she reasoned. They had to walk at least half a mile from the car park, and he was starting to limp a bit. They made their way into Riverside park carrying their camp chairs. Strike again needed Robin’s support as they descended the grassy slope towards the river. Chris noticed that Strike was struggling a bit and graciously declared where they were as good a spot as any. The slope was crowded with people setting up chairs and blankets. 

They still had a while to wait before the show started. Bailey passed them bug repellent, which Robin gratefully accepted. She had already been bitten by mosquitos several times.

An excited buzz filled the crowd as it got closer to time for the show. There were large speakers set up and music playing. Suddenly the song stopped and all the lights went out. The crowd went silent as they heard the distant thud of fireworks launching. Two rockets whizzed through the air, exploding into a shower of golden sparks. The crowd cheered and “America the Beautiful” started playing over the speakers.

Strike leaned into Robin and said, “Is it just me or does it feel a bit unpatriotic to celebrate a war that we lost?”

Her face was shining with excitement. Unable to look away from the fireworks, she said out of the side of her mouth, “Oh, just shut up and enjoy it.”

He chuckled as the next explosions let up her beautiful face. 

The fireworks seemed to be choreographed with the music. On the line “purple mountain majesties”, the sky was filled with purple sparks. The explosions and fountains were perfectly timed with the swells and lulls of the music.

They played other patriotic and classic American songs, such as Bruce Springsteen’s “Born in the U.S.A.” Strike was certain the show must be winding down soon, it had seemed to last forever. You could feel the anticipation building in the crowd as Lee Greenwood’s “God Bless The U.S.A” started playing. He glanced at Chris, who looked to be slightly choked up during the chorus, no doubt remembering his fallen friends. Erin had looked fondly at her husband and squeezed his hand.

_And I’m proud to be an American_

_Where at least I know I’m free_

_And I won’t forget the men who died_

_Who gave that right to me_

_And I’d gladly stand up next to you_

_And defend Her still today_

_‘Cause there ain’t no doubt_

_I love this land_

_God Bless the U.S.A._

There was a great swell in the fireworks on the last chorus of the song, and Strike thought that must be the end. Everyone had cheered and there was a brief lull in the explosions. Everyone was still watching expectantly, then “The Star Spangled Banner” started. On “rocket’s red glare” the sky was filled with red explosions, followed by two loud booms on “bombs bursting in air”. As the song slowed to a close, the sky was filled with so many explosions, it was impossible to distinguish individual fireworks. 

Everyone cheered and clapped and whistled, with shouts of “America!” Strike chuckled. It was hard to deny, their enthusiasm was infectious, and he had rather enjoyed himself. Robin again wrapped her arm around his waist, helping him up the slope. He held her close, as his limp was much more pronounced by the time they got back to the truck.

***

Strike was having a hard time keeping his resolution to wait until they were back in London to tell Robin how he felt. She had looked so beautiful, the way the fireworks had lit up her hair and skin. 

They were currently lying in bed, facing each other and talking. Robin thought Strike looked unbelievably sexy at the moment. He was propped up on his elbow, leaning against his pillows, hair slightly rumpled. He was wearing a white t-shirt. She longed to run her fingers over the muscles of his biceps. 

“What has been your favorite part of the trip?” he asked her.

She had nearly responded, “this”, but caught herself just in time. “The food has been really good, and the baseball was really fun. But I loved the fireworks tonight.” She continued, “What about you?”

“The beer, definitely.” Robin laughed. “I was a little concerned when we first got to Boston, but Oklahoma really knows their stuff when it comes to beer. I wonder if I would be able to find any of it back home.”

“What are you going to miss the most?” she asked him.

_You_ , he thought. “I don’t know, but I’ll tell you what I’m _not_ going to miss. Waiters telling you get the fuck out when you’re done eating.” They both laughed. 

“They do not say that,” Robin chuckled as she playfully shoved his shoulder.

“No, but they might as well. What about you, what are you going to miss?”

“Probably Erin and Bailey. I know Erin’s overly friendly and talkative, but I really like her. I like both of them.”

Strike smiled. “I still haven’t gotten used to how friendly people are. Total strangers asking me how I’m doing all the time? I know it’s just something they say, but it’s weird. And then they make small talk with you! I prefer being left alone,” he laughed.

Robin chuckled as she teased, “You’d think your scowl would scare them off.”

“I know, but then they make it their personal mission to make me smile.”

“You should smile more anyway. You’re quite handsome when you smile,” Robin said.

Strike gazed at her a moment. _Is she flirting?_

Robin continued, “I haven’t gotten used to the toilets. For one thing, why do they have so much water? And the gaps in the stalls! I always feel like people are watching me while I’m in there.”

Strike tried to stop his mind from creating an image of peeking at Robin through a bathroom stall. _Pervy_ _fucker_ , he thought to himself, as he seemed to do a lot these days. Her hand was resting on the pillow between them. He longed to reach out and hold it. Perhaps he should just tell her now? The way she was looking at him….

Robin yawned, stealing the moment away. 

“I’m sorry about this weekend,” she said through her yawn. He looked at her quizzically. “I got a little carried away. I’m sorry I made you uncomfortable. I think I just let the role get to me. That line between real and make-believe got a little blurred.” He looked down at his hand. That wasn’t what he wanted to hear. _Not tonight, then._

“Thank you for being a gentleman.” She gently placed her hand over his, and he looked up into her eyes. He gave her a small, sideways smile. Robin yawned again.

“Maybe we should go to sleep now,” he said. She nodded in agreement.

They said goodnight and turned out their lights, the occasional explosion from fireworks sounding in the distance.

***

Sometime after midnight, Strike was awoken by more fireworks. He sat bolt upright, panting and sweating. Robin rolled towards him and, still asleep, said, “Corm’ran? Areyokay?” and promptly let out a soft snore.

He huffed out a small chuckle and lay back down next to her. He gently picked up her hand and kissed the inside of her wrist, watching her sleep. _Soon_.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My neighborhood sounded like a literal war zone over the weekend, making me think of poor Strike and Chris


	15. Fireworks

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Strike just can't wait any longer...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Smut will follow separately, if you're into that kind of thing 😉  
> I always intended this to be a sweet, innocent story, and I've toed that line quite enough already.

July 5th was also a work holiday, so the office was still closed. Erin and Chris took Strike and Robin to Nola’s, the Cajun restaurant, for brunch. Erin was trying to talk Strike into ordering the biscuits and gravy, but he was still unconvinced. Chris suggested that they just order a plate for the table to share. 

Robin ordered the chicken and waffles. It was two large fried chicken cutlets atop a fluffy Belgian waffle. Strike got the voodoo chicken benedict, which was a southern take on the classic eggs benedict. It had fried chicken instead of ham and a creamy shrimp and crab sauce instead hollandaise. Both meals were absolutely delicious. The English muffin was homemade, and the fried chicken was the best either of them had ever had. 

Strike had to concede that the biscuits and gravy weren’t bad either. The biscuit was flaky and buttery, and also tasted homemade. The gravy was creamy and had large chunks of sausage and crawfish. Chris explained that it’s best to eat in small portions, unless you want to spend the afternoon in a “carb coma.”

Robin was stuffed after eating only half of her chicken and waffle, it was so huge. After finishing his own plate, Strike pulled Robin’s plate toward him and finished most it too.

They spent the rest of the morning touring all the things Erin claimed they couldn’t leave Tulsa without seeing, such as Woodward Park, and the rose gardens around the Philbrook Museum. The strangest of all was the Golden Driller, a large yellow stone statue of man next to an oil derrick. The statue was muscular and shirtless, with a helmet and a belt buckle that said “Tulsa”. Strike recognized it from some of the beers that Chris had given him.

“It’s the tallest free standing statue in the country. That’s actually a real oil derrick,” Erin the tour guide explained. “At one time, Tulsa was the world’s the largest oil field. This guy is Oklahoma’s official state monument.”

They took silly pictures, with Strike posing like the statue, one hand on his hip and the other atop Robin’s head.

After they left the Driller, they drove out to Porter, a small town outside of Tulsa, to get peaches. Erin assured them it wasn’t very far away, but the drive seemed to never end. They passed countless fields of corn, and alfalfa, and most bizarrely, sod. They wove their way down endless dirt and gravel roads, before finally reaching a large fruit stand. They had blackberries, and watermelons, and tomatoes, and all manner of other locally farmed goods, but the star were the peaches. They had a couple of different varieties, including white peaches.

The workers gave out samples of the different varieties. Erin explained that you always had to try the different varieties before you decide what to buy, because the flavors would change from one year to the next, depending on the weather. Robin had always thought a peach was a peach, but she could tell distinct differences in the flavor of each type. One was more sweet, while another was more tart. The texture of the flesh and the skin was also slightly different. 

Erin chose a large basket of the Red Haven variety to take home, and another basket of “overripes” for the car ride home.

“It’s just not the same if you don’t eat a few on the way home, and these others won’t be ready for a few days,” she said. 

Robin bit into a peach and juice immediately trickled down her chin and down her arm. She moaned, “Oh my god, that is soooo good.” 

Strike handed her a napkin to wipe the juice off her arm and watched as she took another slurping bite. The car was full of the sounds of the four of them slurping their peaches, but it was Robin that had Strike’s full attention. She was a complete mess, trying to drive and manage her peach at the same time, but the sounds she was making were sending his mind straight to the gutter. Her tongue kept darting out to lick juice from her hand. The way she would slurp as she took a bite put him in mind of other, extremely inappropriate things. He tried to focus on his own peach, so he wouldn’t get caught with his mouth hanging open.

***

They went back to their garage apartment to finish up their reports for Gloria Vanderbilt and to get dressed for that evening. That night there was to be a party to celebrate the completion of the merger. There would also be more fireworks, as the Drillers stadium was putting on a display. The party would take place at a rooftop bar on top of the Mayo hotel, where they should have a good view of the fireworks. 

Robin decided to wear her green Vashti dress. She came out of the bathroom as Strike was buttoning his shirt. He had his belt unbuckled, as he hadn’t tucked in the shirt yet. Robin’s stomach fluttered. She had seen him in his boxers plenty of times over the last week, but the sight of the unbuckled belt was so _sexy_.

“Can you give me a hand?” She turned her back to him, where she wasn’t able to get her zipper up all the way.

Strike sucked in a breath as he saw her smooth skin and the band of her bra. His heart beat erratically as his fingers accidentally grazed the skin of her back as he tugged on the zipper.

“You look beautiful.” His hand lingered on her shoulder, and he had to remind himself to close his mouth.

“You look quite handsome yourself.” She picked up his tie and began to tie it around her neck while he finished with his shirt. She handed it to him and smirked. The tie was salmon pink. She had never seen him wear pink before.

Ilsa had given him the tie for Christmas, with a note that said “Robin thinks men in girly colors are sexy.” He had debated bringing it, but Ilsa had called him before they left and insisted that he pack it. He was now quite glad that he did, because the look on Robin’s face told him Ilsa had been right. Plus, he had to concede that the salmon color did go quite well with his Italian suit.

Strike took Robin’s hand and tucked it into his elbow to help her over the gravel driveway. She smelled amazing. Her hair was curled and pinned up on one side, reminding him of her wedding day. He opened the car door for her, and kissed the back of her hand before she got in.

***

The rooftop bar was quite swanky, and had a brilliant view of Tulsa. Strike was quite warm in his suit jacket, even though the sun had gone down. He laid it over the back of a sofa and went to get them drinks before the fireworks started. They enjoyed the show, though it wasn’t as good as the night before. Afterwards, a DJ started playing and the dance floor opened up. 

Strike had gone to get them more drinks, and found Robin swaying in her seat and tapping her foot to the music. He set their drinks on the coffee table and offered her his hand. “Dance with me.”

Robin hesitantly took his hand, looking like she was expecting the punch line of a joke. He grinned at her. “I can’t do much, but at least you know I don’t have two left feet. Get it?” He leaned in conspiratorially, “Because I only have one foot.”

She chuckled. “What’s gotten into you this evening?”

“What do you mean?” he asked, though he knew exactly what she meant.

“You’re acting…odd.”

“What, can’t a bloke enjoy having the most beautiful woman at the party on his arm?”

“Okay….” she grinned as he pulled onto the dance floor and put a hand on her waist.

_Just one more day_ , he thought, _you can wait one more day_. The previous song had just ended, and “There’s No Way” by Lauv and Julia Michaels started. 

_You touch me and it’s almost like we knew_

_That there would be history between us two_

He brought their clasped hands to rest on his chest as she leaned into him. Her cheek grazed his and he swallowed the lump in his throat.

_There’s no way that it’s not going there_

_With the way that we’re looking at each other_

He could feel Robin’s breath tickling his neck. Her cheek was still pressed against his. _Just one more day_ , he thought again. _What’s throwing you off_ , another part of his brain countered, _the clothes, the wine, the fireworks, the dancing?_

_Every second with you I want another_

_But maybe we can hold off one sec_

_So we can keep this tension in check_

_Fuck it_. “You’ve done good work on this case. You’ve played your role really well,” he murmured.

“So have you. You’re quite the actor.”

He pulled back to look in her eyes. “What if I wasn’t acting?”

Robin’s breath caught. “What do you mean?”

“I think you know what I mean.” He gave her a lopsided smile. “What if I told you that I didn’t have pretend to love you?”

She quirked an eyebrow at him. “I thought you were a better detective than this.”

His brow furrowed in confusion. She saw the fear of rejection in his eyes, certain that she was about to tell him off. She tried to smile at him, but failed in the gravity of the moment. 

“I wasn’t pretending either.”

His step faltered for just a moment, then he looked into her eyes, his tongue darting out to wet his lips. “Robin… can I kiss you?” His voice sounded rough and cracked, barely a whisper.

She lifted her chin towards him, and cheekily said, “Carry on, then.”

He grinned at her and leaned down, his eyes smoldering. He paused just before reaching her lips. The music swelled, and suddenly he spun her out away from him, surprising her. He gave her a cheeky grin and pulled her back against him tightly, his mouth crashing into hers.

His kiss was uninhibited and hungry. His lips parted and his tongue darted into her mouth, seeking hers. Their tongues swirled around each other. She brought her arms up around his neck and knotted her fingers in his hair. He wrapped one arm around her waist and pressed the other hand into her back, pulling her in closer. Robin moaned into his mouth, making his knees weak. 

“Whoa, man, let the woman breathe,” Chris teased as he clapped Strike on the back.

Strike pulled away from Robin just far enough to growl, “Sod off,” before kissing her again. 

This kiss was more gentle, but just as passionate. They explored each other’s mouths, their surroundings melting away. All that was left was each other. 

After some time, they ended the kiss, Strike resting his forehead against hers. Robin whispered, “Now what?”

He grinned, “We keep dancing.”

He spun her out away from him again, and pulled her in with her back to him. They swayed and he kissed the top of her shoulder before twirling her back to face him. He leaned in slowly and gave her a slow sensual kiss.

“I like the sound of that,” Robin whispered against his mouth, and she kissed him again.


End file.
